Sanity is Relative
by CMW2
Summary: All of her life, Steph's been called crazy. Crazy doesn't always mean bad, though. In this Book 1/2012 movie AU, it's not Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins doing Trenton. It's not even gonna be Batman and Wonder Woman. It's Batman and Harley Quinn doing Trenton (and each other) and it's gonna be great!;Rated for language, imagery, and BABE spice later;21st in my 2015 SSS Project
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: What's this? A new fic from CMW2 and it's not SCANDAL based? Whaaa? LOL! Yeah, about that. I haven't forgotten about BABE or** _ **Lock**_ **but as I've been saying to Margaret, I've run out of patience with canon Stephanie Plum's lack of positive character development so much that if I tried to write a HEA for her with Ranger or anyone for that matter right now, even if I crossed to the Dark Cupcake Side, it would fall flatter than club soda. I'm more inclined to have her die alone as an old regret filled woman or be blown to smithereens in one of her car bombs and that is sad as hell.**

 **She shouldn't be the spawn mother to the next generation of emotionally manipulative/physically abusive Morelli jerks but Ranger, Diesel, or a new player to the Game who's actually worth a damn deserves better than some flip flopping, joy phobic immature brat who won't grow up and stick up for herself because it's too hard and scary.**

 **Of course, Ranger's not blameless at all in the BABE situation. If he would just let his words match his devoted actions towards Steph (no man would bleed as much time, effort, money, cars, and comrades as much as Ranger does for her if she was just a piece of ass to him!), then we'd cooking with gas but am I shocked that Stephanie's on the verge of permanently choosing Morelli to be with as of Book 22 (that I refuse to read or spend cash on), absolutely not.**

 **However, as with** _ **Lock**_ **, this one is gonna go veering screaming into Alternate Universe territory based on Book 1/the 2012 OftM movie's events where there will be a mature and much darker Steph, a dark yet slightly open Ranger and a strong BABE professional and personal relationship with lots of sex.**

 **WARNING: I'm gonna call a spade a spade. If you actually like Morelli or Steph's pathetic excuse for a mother or the Burg, then get out now because it's not gonna be pretty for you. I feed off of the Flames and tears of the salty ones. Hopefully, by letting out some of my GRRR here, I can finally finish** _ **Lock**_ _ **that Shit Up**_ **on a happy note because you guys deserve it for being so patient and good to me. I really don't want to ruin that story.**

 **Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

Growing up, I always wanted to be Wonder Woman.

I mean, why not? Confidence, a sense of justice, bulletproof bracelets, the respect of those around her, male and female, and did I mention that she can fly? Yeah, Wonder Woman was my ultimate goal and she still is. Really, she is but as I got older and with the way that my life decided to unfold, I also grew to identify with another DC character, one that's _**notorious**_ in her devotion to the bad guys but also one that has layers, one who's soft and sweet inside but had to toughen up fast because of life's hard knocks and her own demons trying to tear her apart.

Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel, M.D. aka Harley Quinn.

I can hear the records scratching on the turntables, now but hear me out, okay? Yes, Harley ended up in a bad place more than once and yes, she's been privy to and the cause of all sorts of hell being raised in the DC Universe but think about it. All she really wants at the end of the day is to be loved. Picking The Joker as her Soulmate was pretty much the worst idea ever but I've connected with Harley. She doesn't give up. She's loyal until she's outright betrayed and she's not afraid to embrace who she is. She's not afraid to look conventional society dead in the face and tell it to go fuck itself. She's not afraid to change. She's willing to explore all of her options, whether it's a romantic/sexual relationship with Poison Ivy (it's _**finally**_ canon, motherfuckers!) or going from outright baddie to chaotic neutral. She'll think for herself, even if it means breaking her own heart and I admire that. I admire her for being brave and for taking control of her own destiny when it counts the most.

I wasted so much time twisting my square peg self into round holes. I wasted so much of my life caring about people who don't really love me for me and people who don't matter. I set myself up for failure, for heartbreak and betrayal so many times and I didn't have to. I had choices. I had a voice. I had spirit but I was scared. I was immature. I was afraid to be "crazy", ashamed to be "crazy" but really, what is sanity? What is it really? I mean, going around blowing up buildings and eating people is definitely insane and those who do it definitely need to be put down but overall sanity isn't just something you can define in terms of black and white.

Sanity has shades of gray.

Sanity has varied definitions depending on who you are, where you are, and who you want to be.

Sanity…is relative and its scale is spread wider than Joyce Barnhadt's legs for married men, one of the suckers being my now ex husband but I'll get more in depth on that, later.

My name is Stephanie Michelle Plum. I'm 29 years old and at the age of 24, I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life and married Richard 'Dickie' Orr. In the back of my mind, I knew it was a mistake, which led me to doing one thing right. I made sure that if the marriage fell apart, I would not be shafted. I would wring every bit of money and dignity I could out of the lousy son of a bitch. I refused to even _ **look**_ at a wedding dress until I got it all on iron clad legally binding papers, papers that Dickie had condescendingly (at the time I thought lovingly…) signed because he wanted me to feel secure in trusting him. He wanted me to put full faith in him taking care of me and despite being a lawyer signed everything that I wanted him to without even looking at it.

He should've looked at it.

He also should've kept it in his pants and made sure that I didn't find out about him straying.

' **In the event of proven infidelity, the faithful spouse is entitled to 100% of all joint assets accumulated during the marriage, as well as spousal support payments, and full custody of any children produced during the union'.**

Those words and his hubris became my salvation.

In the interest of the political and social Optics surrounding him, Dickie had put my name on everything he had. The townhouse in Manhattan, the yacht in San Francisco, the branches of his legal practice, the deed to the house in Trenton, the cars…everything, even a big portion of the trust fund he got from his filthy rich in oil money parents and grandparents. And when he came inside of Joyce Barndhart's silicone ass on our dining room table, a busted nut that he had been stupid enough to allow the slut to film for the sake of amateur porn…I took **everything.** The only thing I didn't take from him was a child and that was a blessing. I don't think I'd be a very good mother at all and the last thing I wanted was to be connected to that louse for the rest of my life via offspring. I got every piece of property, half of his trust fund payments every month, every bit of his proper reputation, and instead of keeping all the property loot, I sold it all so I ended up heartbroken and enraged but sitting on a very large pile of interest collecting money.

Dickie had ended up sobbing like a two year old in front of me after the divorce court ruled in my favor, begging for my forgiveness and actually kissing my feet.

The newspaper picture of me filing my nails and leaning against the wall as Dickie prostrated himself in front of me became infamous, as did the stone cold expression on my face.

 **He had it coming.**

The bastard should count himself lucky that I only took his money and reputation.

I could've taken his life and sometimes, a lot of times, I regret that I didn't.

Sure, I would be in prison for the rest of my life but knowing that The Dick would never hurt another woman again…oh, well. Maybe next cheating scum sucking husband, if I ever muster up the balls to get married again, that is. It's doubtful that I will ever go down the aisle again but never say never, y'know? Hell, maybe one day, I'll have a man and he won't cheat on me or try to clip my wings to keep me. I could actually end up with a decent man. Maybe even an excellent man, a man that I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life with and having _**his**_ child.

Sometimes miracles can happen. Look at what happened with Ebeneezer Scrooge.

Yeah, I know the guy's fictional but the example is still very valid.

My incubator Helen Plum had been aghast at my behavior. How could I divorce such a respectable man? How could I blame him for my shortcomings as a wife and woman? How dare I air such filthy dirty laundry (the tape had "accidentally" fallen into the hands of some very influential law and governmental big wigs) and how dare I humiliate _**her**_ this way? Why couldn't I be like Valerie? Why couldn't I be like a good Burg girl and put up with being disregarded, lied to, mistreated just to keep a husband? Why couldn't I do anything right?

As usual, my father Frank had been silent and my Grandma Mazur, as much I loved and still adore her to this day, was more interested in feeding the Burg Grapevine all the salacious details, real and exaggerated to be much of an ally. After all, she didn't have much excitement in her life due to her having to tend to an ailing Grandpa Harry. Everyone else in Trenton treated me with pitying kid gloves or like I was a rabid dog to mad to go near to be put down. I went against the grain. I ruined a rich bitch's life and I wasn't even sorry for it. I couldn't even pretend to be sorry for it and that just would not do. I had to realize that I was in the wrong or I would have to leave.

I chose to leave.

I remained in contact with only one person, my best friend since Pre-K Mary Lou Stankovic. I would send my grandmother, sister and father their Christmas cards and gifts through her. They were generic but good gifts and I made sure that Mary Lou only gave them the contents, not the envelopes with postmarks. I didn't want to be bothered. I didn't want to be tracked down and visited. I didn't want to fuel anymore of the gossip machine.

It worked well enough without my contributions, thank you very fucking much.

The Burg Grapevine and urban legend had me jet setting in the Mediterranean, working undercover for the same branch of British law enforcement as 007 or deep in the heart of India, learning Sanskrit and belly dancing from the experts.

In reality, I just moved to New Mexico. I bought a small bungalow in some foothills and learned not just to find myself but enjoy myself as is. I lived off my loot and the jewelry I made. The dry heat did wonders in aiding my efforts to tame my mane of wild honeysuckle brown curls and if I wanted to hit Vegas, LA, or Honolulu, it was simple. Life had become quiet and simple for me.

Well, at least until now.

According to Mary Lou, Valerie's husband Steve had cheated on her with the barely legal babysitter, leaving her with two kids, a mountain of debt she couldn't pay off, and a broken heart. After being coddled by Helen, she had ended up doing reception work for a two-bit lawyer named Albert Kloughn and promptly fell into bed with the bumbling idiot, resulting in her currently being 4 months pregnant out of wedlock. Although I felt bad for Angie and Mary Alice, along with the third child in the works, I couldn't help but feel a bit of malicious glee at St. Valerie finally losing her vaunted Burg halo.

What was complicating my life was my decision to return to Trenton for Grandpa Harry's funeral, which snowballed into my deciding to stay. Grandma was actually doing well for herself in widowhood. She was embracing her own "crazy" and living life on her own terms. However, she admitted that she felt all alone in her convictions and that she felt terrible for not helping me in the way she should've after what happened with The Dick. She wasn't sure about my father but signs showed that he felt bad, too. They both missed me and Grandma wanted to rebuild our relationship.

Like Harley, I'm loyal to a fault sometimes so I came back to my hometown. I didn't move back to the Burg and I still refuse to deal with Helen for more than 5 minutes at a time on the phone but I was back in Trenton…and _**bored**_.

I can hear the scoffing. Aw, poor rich divorcee is bored? What a First World Problem but a bored me is a dangerous me. So, that led to my getting a new day job, a new day job that made Helen lock herself in the pantry with her "secret" bottle of Old Turkey and sent all the Burg tongues a-wagging. Even Mary Lou gave me a 'What the fuck are you _**thinking,**_ lady?' look when I filled her in.

I'm a bounty hunter and _**no**_ , not like Dog the Bounty Hunter, dammit. Officially, my title is 'Bond Enforcement Agent' but I'm a bounty hunter for my perverted cousin Vinnie, the boss man for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. More accurately, it's a money Laundromat for his father in law Harry the Hammer but whatever.

My job is simple. I go out and I bring in those who don't show up to court, known as Failure to Appears (FTAs) or Skips, one way or the other. I still have to follow the core Laws of the Land but I have a lot of leeway. As long as they're easily identifiable, I get my check. They can be dead or alive, maimed or limping. As long as the prints and occasionally the dental records match, I'm in the clear. I'm not a judge, a jury, or an executioner. I just bring them in and I'm pretty damned good at it. In fact, I've become so good at it, not only is Vinnie out of the red for the first time since Clinton was impeached, he decided to have Connie Rizzoli give me a big fish, one of the files usually reserved for RangeMan Securities.

 **The skip:** 31 year old Trenton native Joseph Anthony Morelli aka Detective Hottie aka Joe aka the Italian Stallion aka the first lousy son of a bitch that I allowed to break my heart, my trust, and completely ruin my reputation. On top of that, he popped my Cherry on a donut shop floor and it wasn't even good.

After popping my Cherry, he decided to embrace his inner Shakespeare and write about it all around town before skipping town to join the Navy and left me holding the bag.

It's okay, though. Just like with The Dick, I got revenge but instead of loot, I put him in a boot.

When he came home on my 19th birthday, I broke his leg in 3 places and cracked his coccyx via a **'welcome home and fuck you, asshole!'** encounter with my dad's tank of a Buick known as Big Blue. Eventually, he healed and became a detective for the Trenton Police Department, one of their best until now. He was on the hook for the missing and assumed very dead woman of the evening Carmen Sanchez from Stark Street (Trenton's equivalent of Skid Row) and instead of showing up to face the music, he once again bolted like a little bitch.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Allegedly, he's not guilty and trying to clear his name but to me, he's 50,000 dollars (a little bit over 46,000 after taxes) worth of work, revenge and street cred. I don't care whether he's innocent or not. That's up to the courts to decide and whatever poor shyster schmuck that ends up stuck with his case to get him through. Although given my past with him and the Morelli man reputation for violence against women, I'm inclined to believe he's guilty as sin.

 **Main Objective:** Capture Morelli and put the money towards my nieces' college funds.

Like I said, I work because I need to keep my brain occupied, not because I have to.

I want Morelli. I want more revenge against him for hurting me. Hitting him with Big Blue was excellent but not enough. I want him to suffer long term. I want to make sure that another woman doesn't end up hurt by him. I want that 50 Grand. I want the notch on my belt of taking down a dirty cop.

 **Caveat:** I _**don't**_ want to get maimed or die while chasing the fucker down.

Joe Morelli's too much a bitch to really hurt me but the folks he's been rumored to run around with are the types to shoot first, stab second, and send your mother an ' **I'm sorry'** edible arrangement after your closed casket funeral when they turned out to be wrong.

I've got a lot of skills and moxie but even Harley and Wonder Woman need help, sometimes.

I'm not going to be able to pull off bagging Morelli without help and I'm not going to get half assed, half baked help.

I want the best in my corner and the best is RangeMan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: You all are beautiful and so very wonderful people. I've been getting notifications from FFN and Facebook all day indicating that I'm onto something good here and I want to keep going. As last A/N indicated, this is a very anti Burg fic and my treatment of some of its disciples, including Val in the first portion of this chapter, is going to be quite harsh. I've always loved the idea of Steph and Val being actual loving sisters so her being redeemed (even with Kloughn…) is a distinct possibility. Now, it's time for Harley to meet Batman.**

 **Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"So, why am I here with you again?"

"I have a business meeting with someone I've never met before and I want to have a third party witness in case things go left. Plus, I'm sure that you need a break from Kloughn and according to Grandma, you've got a real gravy addiction going on. This joint has some of the best sausage gravy in town, especially on biscuits."

"I'm sure that Mom's is better."

"Maybe but I still don't want be bothered with her."

"Stepphie, I know you hate her…"

"Is that what she's telling people, now? I don't hate her. I hate the traditions she champions and the way she treats me like garbage for daring to be different. There's a difference, Val and _**don't**_ call me Stepphie. We're not 7 and 10 anymore."

"Fine…are you sure that you should…I mean, it's a business meeting, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"You don't exactly look dressed for the occasion."

Instead of verbally flaying her for that judgey statement, I merely rested my chin on tented fingers and gave my older sister a look flatter than the salt flats I used to drag race on out West.

"I'm sure a brisk walk would be good for you, Valerie."

 **Translation: Shut up, order whatever you want, and play your role or waddle home.**

She blinked at the implied threat and hid her blushing face behind her Rite on Thyme Diner's menu. As soon as we walked in Truck Stop diner together, we drew attention. Even though Val's supposed to be 4 months pregnant, she looked more like 7. Either she's carrying twins or her gravy addiction has gotten completely out of hand. I'd leave finding out for sure to her Crotch Doc and her general physician. Hopefully, she wouldn't end up with Baby #3 and a case of Type 2 Diabetes but who knew what would happen?

The fact that she had come out in a canary yellow rain slicker and hat along with cherry red galoshes didn't help matters. Underneath the rain gear was a pink paisley maternity jumpsuit and brown pullover cardigan that looked like they had time jumped straight from 1975. Come to think about it, the whole getup may be Helen's. I have to have Grandma check the photo albums to confirm it later. It wouldn't surprise me. Steve had taken everything with him when he ran off with Barely Legal Babysitting Barbie and Val was more open to doing what Helen said. The more a person did what she said, the more love and affection they got from her, including home cooked meals and emergency hand me downs.

Yeah, Val had snagged herself a "nice and respectable" lawyer but Albert Kloughn couldn't represent anyone well in Kangaroo Court, much less the State Court. Money was still very tight for my big sister, which made me even more determined to throw Joe Morelli's sorry FTA ass into the trunk of my cobalt 1968 Dodge charger, affectionately known as Jorge. Unlike every other man that I've dealt with, Jorge never lets me down and when I take him above 80…he has never left me unsatisfied.

In contrast to Weather Girl, I had come in wearing a hooded black leather bomber jacket, dark wash skinny jeans, and my favorite black lace up platform ankle booties. They're 5 and three quarters inches tall and I can sprint in them as easily as I walk in them. What was taking Val aback (and freaking out the mother of an excited brooding tween princess as they ate meatloaf 4 tables over from us) was the graphic tee I had decided to wear today. It was an **Adventure Time** t-shirt but Finn and Jake had ended up on a very bad acid trip by the looks of things. It was probably all Marceline's fault or maybe Tree Trunks put a little something extra in one of her apple pies.

The swirling neon multicolored paisley pattern took up the whole short sleeved shirt and the pair were clinging to each other in the center of the action, screaming in sheer terror. The whole outfit covered all of my skin but it didn't hide my trim figure, a figure I've maintained through skip chasing, an 80 healthy/20 junk diet thanks to mail order meals (I can't cook worth a damn), and the aerial silk classes I go to 5 nights a week. I took up acrobatics while I was in New Mexico and I still adore it. I'm finally flying and even though there's a distinct risk of breaking my arm again, it's in a controlled environment and I honestly look quite sexy while I'm performing.

As soon as we put the menus back in their caddy, a cheerful waitress with a stiff red beehive and popping a huge wad of sour Bubblicious came to our booth.

"What can I get for ya, ladies?"

"She'll have the #6 Lumberjack plate with extra gravy and do you guys still have the 3 meat manicotti with melted mozzarella?"

"We do."

"Let me have a dinner plate of that with a chicken, beet and spinach side salad, and another pitcher of ice water. Val, do you want anything else?"

"Pound cake."

"Please add 2 slices of pound cake to that, one with the raspberry sauce and one without. Anything else, Val?"

"Pink lemonade."

"Right."

"All righty, I'll be back with your drinks in a jiffy. Enjoy your meals."

"Thank you, ma'am…so, who are you supposed to be meeting with, Stepp…Stephanie?"

"Another bounty hunter. Vinnie gave me Joe Morelli and I'm gonna need all the help I can get."

"You _ **can't**_ believe that Joe actually committed murder!"

"What I believe doesn't matter. What matters is the 50 grand for the girls' college funds."

"Steph, I don't want or need your charity…"

"It's not charity and the 50 grand isn't for you. It's for Mary Alice, Angie, and whoever's kicking you in the bladder right now."

The waitress (Heather) came back with our drinks and I gave a smile of gratitude, one that was readily returned.

"What bounty hunter are you meeting with? Is he dangerous?"

"Connie and Vinnie know him as Ranger and yeah, he's dangerous but I really don't care. He runs the private security firm on Haywood and Vinnie gives him high bond skips on the regular. I'm damned good at what I do but that's the minor leagues. If I'm gonna run with the big dogs and help send Morelli's sorry ass up the river, I need to figure out how to do it without getting dead or maimed for my trouble. Joe Morelli's a punk ass bitch and a manwhore but the people he was monkeying around with "on assignment" are Bad News Bears. If I go off all half cocked and piss them off, they'll kill me without hesitation and probably go after the rest of the family for good measure."

"Why would you put yourself and all of us in so much danger, then?!"

" **Keep your voice down.** I love my job. I'm good at it, the puzzles make me happy, and the girls need the 50 grand. I'd have given it to them outright but as you said, you don't want or need my charity, especially since I'm as Helen puts it, rolling around in the mud with lowlifes instead of actually doing something a mother could be proud of."

"She just wants what's best of you, Stephanie."

"She wants what's best for _**her**_ , not me. Never for me. You're the favorite and I'm the reject."

"Stephanie…"

"Helen and Dad prayed for a boy after you. They didn't get their boy. They got stuck with me and I've been paying for their shattered dreams ever since I got here and I started paying with interest after I jumped off of the garage roof trying to fly."

"You have to admit that what you did that morning was crazy…"

"Crazy is as crazy does, Valerie and it doesn't always mean bad."

The puppy like look of confusion on Val's face had me torn between decking her and hugging her. She was like a preschooler, sometimes. She knew things but had on a firm pair of rose tinted glasses. She refused to really think for herself and was all too willing to be guided by others. All they had to do was say that they meant well and cloak it all in the neighborhood traditions we had grown up with and it was a done deal. Me? I always asked why.

When adults said it was because they said so, I always asked why they said so and why it had to be that way. Why couldn't things be different? What was so wrong with being different and a little less than respectable, sometimes? I've been surrounded by 'respectable' cookie cutter people all of my life, I tried to be one, and you know what? Every last one of them's a miserable bitch or bastard. They may hide it under extra wide smiles and dinner promptly on the table at 6PM. They may try to tipple it away, smoke it away, or watch it away through a television sports broadcast blasting but the misery is there if you know how to look for it. There are so many shattered and deferred dreams in the Burg, in neighborhoods just like the Burg all over the country and world.

It's just so damned sad.

I don't want to end up like that.

I still don't know what my life's endgame is going to be but I truly hope that I don't end up like that.

I don't think my heart could take it.

The tinkling of the bells and wind chimes above the diner door broke me out my morose thoughts and I could hear conversations stop. Looking up from my silver and black two toned manicure, I felt my pulse pick up.

 _ **Ho-ly Shee-it**_ …

Since when did New Jersey have men that fucking hot walking around?

If they could, my lady bits and my Hungarian Hormones would give this GQ motherfucker a standing ovation of welcome because he is just that fine. No, not fine. _**Beautiful**_.

Wow, is he a beautiful man.

The tall and lean man was dressed in black from head to toe. He had on a black windbreaker, a black t-shirt, black military cargo pants, and spit shone black Doc Martin shitkickers that didn't make a sound as he walked down the main aisle of the diner, a small photograph in his hand. His skin was smooth and a rich shade of brown, café au lait, almost. His long and loose dark hair was waving a bit from exposure to the rain and he moved with the smooth and confident grace of an apex predator, a panther. When he stopped at our booth, Val looked like she was about to go and hide under the table. Whether it was out of fright or an overdose of hormones was up in the air. Dark hessonite eyes glanced down at the photograph one last time before meeting my cerulean orbs head on.

"Stephanie Plum?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I do. I'm Ranger Manoso and Connie Rizzoli mentioned that you need my help with a skip."

"Okay, then. I'm Stephanie and that's my sister Valerie Kloughn next to you. As for the skip, I'm still not sure about _**needing**_ your help but I'd like a consult. Take a load off. Are you hungry? Brunch is on the way."

 _ **/**_

I had heard of Stephanie Plum before today.

I had even seen the picture of her after her divorce court hearing, complete with the sniveling _**pendejo**_ at her feet. According to local lore, she was the youngest wild child of the Mazur-Plum family. She had jumped off of her garage roof trying to fly at 7 years old. At 19 years old, she had nearly committed vehicular manslaughter to take revenge against the sick pig who stole her virginity on the Tasty Pastry floor when she was 16 and at 25, she had become one of the richest people to come out of Trenton thanks to the aforementioned _**pendejo**_.

After her grandfather passed away from congestive heart failure, she had come back home and was a rising star in the Bond Enforcement community. She was known for being tough but fair, even friendly with some of her regular Skips. An attempted bombing of her Mustang gave her the moniker ' the Bombshell Bounty Hunter' and she had actually kicked the incoming Molotov Cocktail back to its wielder, blowing the would be bomber's Jetta sky high, much to her cackling delight. Santos had gleefully showed me the YouTube footage and vowed that if he ever got the chance to meet her, he'd make her his wife or at least his Number One Girl.

He'll have to go through me, first.

Once her sister had thoroughly demolished her biscuits and gravy, she went to go wait in the car. After Valerie was gone, Stephanie pulled an FTA file out of her red knapsack and slid it across the table to me. She had put away an order of Manicotti that would soothe Tank's appetite and was steadily plowing through her salad.

"The skip is Joe Morelli, a suspected dirty cop and murderer. He says he's innocent of all the charges but I call bullshit. He's a Morelli man and they're all crooked woman hating and abusing trash. I'm speaking from personal experience. I want to bring him in but he's sneaky, well protected by his supporters in the Burg and as much as it pisses me off to admit, he's completely out of my league if I'm flying solo. You're the best in the Skip tracing business. You're even better than Les Sebring and RangeMan's legendary for their security systems. I heard about your company all the way in New Mexico and I've yet to hear a bad review."

"You did your homework. I'm impressed. What are you proposing, Babe?"

"An alliance between me and RangeMan to help me bag Morelli and perhaps a mentor/mentee thing between us so I can learn how to roll with the big dogs without getting a chunk taken out of my ass. I'm willing to split the street cred evenly for bagging Morelli but the 50K on his head is going to go towards my nieces' college funds. That's non-negotiable."

"Why don't you just add to it yourself? You're not hurting for money…"

"My family and I disagree about what an acceptable line of work for me is. Val won't take charity because of her pride, not to mention that Kloughn would probably cry for a week over it and Helen would have a coronary if she knew that Val took a cent of 'poor Richard's money from that ungrateful and selfish girl'."

"Helen?"

"My incubator. There has to be love on both ends for a parent/child relationship. She hates me. She wanted a boy or at least another perfect daughter. I'm neither and I've stopped apologizing for being neither so she hates me. She'll never say it out loud but I can put 2 and 2 together and get fish."

"What about your father?"

"What about him? He wanted a boy and as long as he gets his pot roast right at 6PM, he doesn't really care about anything else around him but his sports games, including his children. That's not to say that he hates me or Val but I think he's too stuck in his own head and misery to be a useful man. He's a good man but not very useful. Enough with the sob story. Are you interested in helping me catch Morelli or not?"

"I am."

"Cool. Where and when should I meet up with you?"

"Tomorrow morning at 0900. I'll pick you up at your place."

"You don't even know where I live."

"Babe."

"Right. Here's my number. Text me when you're on the way. Thank you for this, Ranger. I promise that I won't waste your time."

I have a strong feeling that nothing that I do with this woman, clothed or otherwise, could ever be considered a waste of my time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: The good responses to this fic have made my week. I was a little hesitant to write Steph this dark because it's very easy for me to get super bitter and very existential and that can become annoying to read. There will be some comedy in this one. The "screwball" comedy element is one of the few redeeming qualities left in the canon book series and I don't want to diverge from that too much. The difference with me is that Steph isn't going to be the butt of every joke, though. Comedy can happen without shitting on the heroine all the time, letting her stubbornness get her into mortal peril every five minutes or making her look and act like a halfwit tramp in front of every attractive dude, good or bad, that gives her a second of their attention.**

 **Feel free to ignore the last part of the last sentence. That was slut-shameish and just too salty. Sadly accurate but I could've said it better. The bitterness is obviously still very strong within this BABE about canon Stephanie Plum's behavior and treatment by The Creator. I haven't forgotten about** _ **Lock**_ **but I'm still not in the mood to write a Happily Ever After for Stephanie there, even if she** _ **does**_ **get to kick CatWoman's ass beforehand…**

 **Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

 **The Next Morning- 8:15AM EST…**

To paraphrase from **Criminal Minds** : I don't believe in guns but they do exist.

They exist and they have their uses. And really, you cannot be in law enforcement, even "slum it" as a BEA without an armed gun that you're willing to use, _**especially**_ in New Jersey. I mean, I _**guess**_ you could but it would be way harder and a lot messier. The Skips around here will not hesitate to chuck you in a nasty dumpster or make you run through a minefield of steaming dog shit to stay out of the pokey. I still hate guns though. I hate the sound of them and the very idea of me killing someone or maiming them for life makes me want to barf but I have to be realistic.

Everybody over the age of 18 in Jersey has a piece on them and maybe some who are younger, too. I don't know for sure and it's not my place to judge other people. I leave judging people up to God and The Burg. Folks have to do what they have to do to make it from dawn to dusk.

And if there's a choice between a Skip getting shot in the ass and me getting shot in the head, you can double goddamn guarantee that it's going to be the former. It's way easier to recover from an ass wound than a head injury. I have plenty of experience with both unfortunate situations. Not from a Skip's gunshot, thankfully but acrobatics, especially the branch I've chosen, have their perils and you can't get good at it until you learn what doesn't work. Gravity can make or break an aerial silk routine and sometimes, you've just got to eat it. It's unavoidable and it's like of rite of passage, especially if you break a bone or two.

I've sprained things, bruised things, strained things, and I can recite the protocols for dealing with minor to major concussions backwards and forwards but I've never gotten a cap busted in my gut or a cast on a limb.

I hope that taking on Joe Morelli's bond doesn't cause me to pop those Cherries but knowing my luck, I brought 2 huge packs of Sharpies for plaster cast customization and I looked up how to fish a bullet out of a person's body just in case.

Don't Google that shit after you've just eaten, by the way.

Pino's doesn't taste as good coming back up as it does going down.

Going down…it's been a little over 18 hours since I met Ranger Manoso and I still have images of his head between my legs dancing through my head. Between those images, there are ones with me happily returning the favor and an impressively kinky one involving him being tangled up in my performance silks in a way that would have me unable to use them again without blushing.

Contrary to The Dick's bitter complaints, I'm no prude between the sheets but I'm not a super freak, either. I'm more of a Tab A into Slot B type of girl and my ass is an 'exit only' orifice. I'm open to the idea of experimenting with lingerie, some light bondage (my safe word is 'kiwi') and a can of ReddiWhip can go a long way but yeah, no. If you want that Red Room of Pain shit and to reenact some of PornHub's Greatest Hits with me, you're barking up the wrong tree, Buster Brown. I won't apologize for it, either. The Dick had expected me to and he paid for it with interest in more ways than one…

I don't even know why I'm still dwelling on Ranger, anyway. Yes, he's beautiful but he probably has a girlfriend. He probably has a wife. Hell, with the way he looks, he could have a wife along with harems of a dozen women in every state of the Union plus the territories. Besides, what the hell would a guy like _**that**_ want with me? He's gorgeous, he's loaded, he's driven, and probably has his life scheduled down to the millisecond.

I'm loaded, too and I'm far from ugly. I've got some serious drive but I'm unpredictable on a good day. I'm still pretty sheltered and naïve, too. I've done some travelling and I've got life experience but nothing on his level.

Ranger has travelled all over the world, done all sorts of amazing things for the military and otherwise. I'm just… _ **me**_. Don't get me wrong, I _**like**_ me. I like my unpredictable ways. I like my distinct lack of brain to mouth filter. I like that I have a backbone and I certainly don't want to go back to the Stephanie Plum of old. I don't want to be that insecure, unhappy little girl ever again but…I can lust after him but I can't dwell on him.

Ranger Manoso is out of my league and this is supposed to be a professional alliance, anyway.

Mixing business and pleasure is like playing Russian Roulette with an AK-47.

I'm musing about all of this while dithering about what I'm supposed to wear today, by the way.

I want to look nice for him.

No, I want to look hot for him, even though it's likely that we'll spend the whole day working.

God, am I pathetic or what?

Why do I always do this to myself?

What the hell is wrong with me?

One would think that I would've learned by now that guys to me are like a cell in Arkham to Harley or Kryptonite to Superman. I attract immature jerks and complete assholes. Ranger doesn't seem to be an immature jerk or a complete asshole but as my time with The Dick proved, nice first impressions can be deceiving. The Dick seemed to be a knight in shining armor but he turned out to be a dirty bum wrapped in cheap tin foil.

At least with Joe Morelli, I knew that he was a pig from when I was 6 years old playing 'choo-choo' with him in his father's garage.

What's 'choo-choo', you ask? It was a game and it had simple rules.

His fingers were the train, his brain was the engineer, and my pussy was the tunnel.

I didn't know better until Helen found out and grounded me for the rest of the summer, including the 4th of July, and his Uncle Leonardo took a leather strop to him in the street. 8 year old Joey Morelli had to be chased down and dragged back home by his enraged uncle. Leonardo Morelli couldn't be considered a good man. He was too drunk and gamble addicted but he really had tried his best to do right by the younger generation, tried his best to break the cycle. He had even forced Joe to make me an apology macaroni art zebra and when I'd been paroled, he gave me the Wonder Woman cape that had later inspired by infamous garage roof Leap of Faith.

Poor dumb bastard. If his liver had held out long enough to see who little Joey had grown up to be, he'd be so ashamed and so sad. I know Angie Morelli has to be, even though the old bat is definitely stupid and deluded enough to help her precious prostitute murdering baby boy dodge the authorities. _**Allegedly.**_ I have to remember to say allegedly.

Although they had charged him for Carmen Sanchez, Morelli hadn't been convicted and the evidence against him, according to my cop cousin by marriage Eddie Gazarra was mostly circumstantial but still very damning.

In my mind and heart, he's guilty as sin. I don't care if somehow he proves his innocence to the law and to the community. To me, he will always be guilty of something bad towards women.

Joe Morelli is trash and a bitch. He always has been and he always will be.

I had a big fixation on him, though. It lasted from that Summer to the Donut Shop. He was the quintessential 'bad boy' and I was still determined to be a good Burg girl but my rebellious streak just wouldn't die, no matter how much I tried to make it. I immediately regretted giving into him at the Tasty Pastry and the aftermath yanked all forbidden fondness I had for him out by the short and curlies.

He fucked me horribly, fucked me over, and then had the nerve to try and move on with his life without even a fake apology. He became nothing but a little punk ass bitch to me from that day on and even if there wasn't 50K for my nieces at stake, I'd still be determined to take him down.

The fool called me Cupcake. I get that nicknames are common and there are worse ones out there but…Cupcake? _**Really?**_ Cupcake's a nickname for a little kid or a puppy, not a woman!

He ruined one my favorite desserts for me for the longest time and to this day, although I'll happily devour one, I still wince a little inside at the sight of them.

When the idiot calls me Cupcake after Ranger helps me snag him, I'm shooting him.

Whether the non lethal shot will come from my KSG shot gun, my .45 Magnum pistol, or my brand spanking new Tazer remains to be seen but I'm definitely gonna shoot him and enjoy it.

Of course, if I don't pry my stupid head out of my horny ass and put some clothes on, my shooting and catching Joe Morelli won't happen anytime this century.

A good outfit starts with shoes.

Since this isn't a sit down business meeting and I have a Skip to pick up before sundown tomorrow, I pulled out my black steel toed Timberland work boots with the laces the same color as my last name. That was a good choice since my bra, panties, and knee sock set for today is neon purple or heliotrope, as the packaging said. I like to match clothes without being too matchy-matchy.

One of the very few things Helen and I manage to agree on is the importance of wearing nice and clean undergarments at all times in case one runs into trouble.

My Tims are cute but practical. Practicality is crucial.

Just because I _**can**_ sprint in 5 inch heels doesn't mean I necessarily _**want**_ to, especially since the guy I'm going after today, Samuel Adams (yes, that's his real name…) is known for making a run for it. Sammy used to be a big track and field star around here until he blew his knee out during his first track meet at Rutgers. The career ending injury plus two bad surgeries and subsequent depression had him hooked on Oxy.

Oxy addiction is a gateway to Heroin addiction, at least according to the **Drugs INC** episodes I watch on the **Nat Geo** Channel. It's a lot cheaper to get the Heroin than the pills, which is sad as hell but what can you do?

Anyway, he got collared for possession plus an open intoxicant in his vehicle, leading to a brief high speed chase first in his Jeep and then on foot near the river. Hopefully, I can catch him while he's holding still outside his favorite Psychedelic Shack after he shoots up and have him in the Cop Shop before sundown today. I like to be proactive with my Skips. Procrastination can lead to them going to ground or skipping town and that makes the job even harder than it already is.

My Tims meant that my usual skinny jeans were out of the question so I pulled on a pair of gunmetal gray cargo pants. I know that cargo pants and shorts get a bad rap amongst fashion bloggers and women in general but they're perfect for Bounty Hunting. They can hold a gun, extra ammo, a phone, some band aids, and even an emergency Snickers bar, provided that it's not too hot outside.

Once the pants and boots were on, I opened my two shirt drawers. One of them held all my fun t-shirts like the **Adventure Time** one and the other held other tops ranging from plain white to lacy ones that make my tits look divine. Since I'll be hanging around with Ranger all day, I put on the cherry red long sleeved cotton v-neck. It was practical for field work but it emphasized the hourglass shape I have going on and showed a good amount of cleavage without being indecent.

I do have some indecent tops and skirts but those could saved for later, if Ranger was ever interested in getting indecent with me, which he probably won't be so why am I still dwelling on him?

Good Lord above, I'm pathetic!

Damn it, I need to get laid.

After The Dick, I swore off of men, even for a tumble between the sheets. I dealt with my various sexual needs via sugar, my showerheads and a very nice Rabbit but I haven't had actual sex with a partner since before The Divorce.

I haven't had _**good**_ sex in…shit. I don't think I've _**ever**_ had good sex and that's sad enough to make me want to turn my usual morning tall glass of OJ into a morning tall glass of Screwdriver, hold the OJ and double the tequila. Yeah, I just said tequila. My brand of choice is 1800.

After everything that went down with The Dick and The Burg, I finally learned how to hold my liquor. I didn't have a choice if I wanted to keep what little sanity I had left at the time. I still have a low alcohol tolerance compared to other folks but I'm no longer a one and done gal.

Ranger would give me good sex and multiple Doomsday Orgasms. I know he would.

Ranger would give the best sex of my fucking life and I'd be ruined for all other men.

Ranger would… _ **stop it, Plum!**_

Pull yourself together! This is supposed to be a professional alliance and nothing more!

Pull yourself together and stop being so thirsty for Ranger fucking Manoso!

And for God's sake, when he shows up, do _**not**_ pull your panties down for him!

Men aren't the Devil's children (except for Morelli…) but they're no good for you!

You've gone 0 for 2 with men and there's no need to make it a Turkey of failure!

Do you want to get hurt again?

Do you want to be used again?

Do you want to be the laughingstock and Hester Prynne of The Burg again?

No, I really don't but…goddamn it…


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Although this story is beginning with events taken from Book 1/OftM 2012, it's going to veer off into completely original territory soon. Well, not completely original. There might be some staple ideas taken from my previous BABE fics. I'm not sure yet. I'm very grateful and happy that you guys are digging the story and Steph. The lion's share of this one will be in her POV but we'll make more visits into Ranger's head. It'll be fun. My goal is to make a dark but fun story. Hopefully, it'll work out well.**

 **And to address a tactfully raised and relevant concern, I know that Steph's more than a little jaded when it comes to men but in this fic, when it comes to intimate relationships, she's gone 0 for 2 and it only takes one bad experience to mess someone up. Ranger will not be a 3** **rd** **bad experience. In fact, he'll live up to the old adage: the third time's the charm but it'll be a while before Steph sees that and trusts it and him fully. Not too long, though.**

 **Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"Yo."

" _Yo, my black ass. Do you know what you're doing?_ "

"I'm working with her. I've worked with women before."

" _Don't bullshit me, Ranger. You've been interested in Plum since Santos showed everyone the video of her dealing with that Molotov. You turned down Morelli's bond so Vinnie would give it to her and you'd have an excuse to ask Connie to set up a meeting with her."_

"That sounds very convoluted."

" _That sounds like some shit you just pulled. It's not like you could've just shown up at the Bond's office and asked her out like a normal human being. Oh, wait…you_ _**could've.**_ "

"Tank…"

" _Don't get it twisted. I'm happy as hell that you're interested in her. She's a damned good Bounty Hunter and she's a knockout but she's been hurt, Carlos. She doesn't need you toying with her."_

"Not hurt, fucked over. Morelli, Orr, even her own family members, people who are supposed to love her and accept her have fucked her over. I'm not toying with her. I just…"

" _ **Just?**_ "

"I like her, Pierre. She wasn't afraid of me. She looked me dead in the eye and spoke to me like we were equals. She's attracted to me but she didn't start simpering. She didn't bullshit me. She was…I like her. I want to know her."

" _You've got it bad, man. Cupid finally busted a love cap in your ass!_ "

" _ **Fuck.**_ "

" _Hey, it happens to the best of us and it could be worse. It could've been Burrows._ "

"She told me to text her when I was on the way."

" _No, fuck that. Call her and when you get there, open the door for her. Get her some breakfast."_

"Why?"

" _Because that's what you_ _ **do**_ _when you like a girl! Jesus, you're an amateur."_

"I have a kid, Tank."

" _Jules is awesome but the circumstances of her coming to be weren't from a relationship with a woman you liked. They came from an extended one night stand with someone you had nothing in common with after the clothes were put back on and a birth control recall. You actually like Plum and since she's been fucked over before, she's automatically gonna assume that you'll do it, too. She's gonna have self esteem issues out the ass and you have to show her that you're legit. You have to treat her like she's an equal and like she's special. Women like to feel special."_

"No more **Dr. Phil** and **Steve Harvey** for you."

" _Oh, you got jokes… work with her today. Use all your words and try to have_ _ **fun**_ _. You remember what that is, don't you?"_

"Of course I do. You'll be joining me for some _**fun**_ on the Mats tomorrow morning."

* * *

"Fair warning, we're going to get stared at like we're zoo animals. Everyone knows me as the Plum family fuck up that drained her filthy rich ex husband dry and there are at least 8 rumors about you going around at any given time. The favorites are that you're a government assassin waiting for your next assignment or you're the biggest drug lord/pimp in the region since Nicky Barnes. The best way to deal with it is to ignore them and say as little as possible to anyone. Anything you say and do in the Burg can and will be twisted to be used against you later."

"Why are we here then?"

"Pino's is the gossip epicenter of the Burg, other than the Clip n Curl. If we're going to get any word on what hidey hole Morelli's crawled into, even if it's just a guesstimate, it'll be from here. That and there's a 2 for 1 lunch special on their meatball subs. Fish gotta swim, rabbits gotta hump, and a girl's gotta eat."

I chuckled at that and followed Stephanie into the family style Italian restaurant. True to her warning, as soon as we walked in together, conversations began to taper off, pick up, and gazes went to us. Some gazes were wide and frozen like a deer in the headlights. Some were quick and a healthy amount of fear was in all of them. Whether they were intimidated by me or Stephanie is a toss-up. She's unabashedly herself and a local legend, thanks to Orr and her line of work.

As she said, I don't really frequent the local businesses in Trenton or leave Haywood. If I'm out, I'm dealing with a security breach or chasing down a Skip. Occasionally, I'll go to the gun range and Stark Street to get Intel but mainly, I keep to myself. Fear is based on unknowns so the idea that I'm a man of lawlessness isn't too far-fetched. It's actually pretty close to the truth.

I tend to dwell in various shades of gray leading to black when it comes to the law but every circumstance is different. I lost too many friends to drugs to even consider going into that line of work and the idea of forcing women to sell themselves to line my pockets makes me want to spit acid. As for the assassin idea…I don't kill unless I'm ordered to (and those orders need to be reasonable…) or if there is no other alternative. Usually, I'll find an alternative.

There are fates worse than death, after all.

After Stephanie collected her two large meatball subs, I followed her to a free booth and settled with my back to the wall and my eyes on the doors. She settled in and I watched with a train wreck fascination as she started to eat. Her table manners were impeccable but what she was eating…

"That stuff will kill you, Babe."

It smelled good but I could practically see her arteries clogging with all of the mozzarella.

Instead of replying verbally, she looked up and gave me a chipmunk cheeked smile before she slowly swallowed what was in her mouth with a deep moan of satisfaction.

Unbidden, an image of her doing the same action while in my bed wearing nothing but her boots from yesterday came to my mind and I took a deep drink of water. She finished half of her first sandwich and I had to tell my cock to calm the hell down as she suckled tomato sauce from her fingertips.

In the past, I would pursue aggressively and after getting what I wanted, what we both wanted, it would end one way or the other. Mainly, I've had friends with benefits/one night stands. For the sake of Julie, Rachel and I had tried to make an actual relationship work but as Tank said, we were too different. Plus, once I got into the Rangers, she quickly saw the benefits of not having to deal with a post mission me or eventually having to give the 'Papi's not coming home but he's looking down from heaven always' speech. After that ended, I went back to my original pattern of in and out (and never with Jeanne Ellen Burrows, despite what Santos keeps telling people) and I was fine with it. My life is too chaotic to maintain a real relationship so my staying a bachelor, staying a discreet speed dial 'bad boy' hook up was all right with me. There hadn't been a woman that could hold my attention to consider wanting more.

Until now, anyway.

My attraction to Stephanie Plum is different. I do want her body but there's something about her that just appeals to me. First impressions are everlasting and she impressed me. She didn't fall into a single category. I couldn't figure her out and maybe it's also the way she does her job, effective yet unorthodox. Maybe it's the way she moves, sexy without trying or maybe, it's the sadness in her big blue eyes, a bitter sadness that I'm all too familiar with.

She has been made to feel as if she is fundamentally flawed, that she's either too dangerous to bother with or that she needs to be saved by any means necessary, regardless of her opinion of the matter.

Once I got to adulthood, that type of treatment stopped but with Stephanie, it's still going on and the idea of people clipping her wings, bullying her, makes me feel more than a little homicidal.

This could be a problem.

The other half of her first sub was demolished and she refilled our water glasses with a smile on her face.

"I missed food like this while I was in New Mexico. You couldn't get a good marinara sauce anywhere but the chili was always divine. I put it on everything from eggs to ice cream."

"Red or Green?"

"Yes."

"Do you miss being out there?"

"More than a little bit but I'm glad to be close to my Grandma again and it's my sacred duty as their Aunt Stephanie to show my nieces that there's more than one way to skin a cat and more than one way to live a good life. You don't have to be the perfect housewife to be happy and sometimes, it's best to march to the beat of your own drum. If you're not careful, the Burg will set you up for failure. What happened to Val is a perfect example. She did everything right. She followed all of the traditional rules and regulations that Helen crowed about and what did it get her? What does she have? She has her girls and Kloughn now but other than that… I mean, if she were really happy, I wouldn't care but she's not. She's where I used to be before I left."

"Where is that?"

"She's living a life that is mediocre to the point of outright sucking but since she doesn't know any other way to live, she sticks with it because it's familiar and safe and socially acceptable."

"There's nothing wrong with safety, Babe."

"Yeah, but what's the point of staying safe if you cut yourself off from all the things that make life worth living? Taking risks and getting hurt sucks but there's nothing better than taking a risk and it turns out to be awesome."

Before I could reply to that, her phone went off and my brows went up as I recognized the theme for the Wicked Witch of the West.

"That was Helen. I'm surprised that she didn't call after you helped me bring Sammy in. Apparently, me being around a man is still considered blazing hot Tea and God forbid I add anymore shame to the family name. I'll deal with her later. I don't want her to ruin my appetite. Wasting a Pino's meatball sub's the 8th deadly sin, you know."

More like the 9th. The 8th deadly sin right now would be keeping her from enjoying her sub.

 _ **/**_

" _Stephanie, this is your mother."_

"I'm aware of that, Helen. It's why I ignored your earlier calls. What do you want?"

" _Your sister told me that your cousin gave you Joseph's case."_

"It's called a Bond, Helen and yes, I have it. What's your point?"

" _He's innocent, Stephanie! You can't just throw an innocent man in prison!"_

"I don't care whether he's innocent or not and I don't throw people in prison. I'm not a judge, a jury, or the Lord. I'm a Bounty Hunter and I'm going to do my job. Bringing Joe Morelli in is my job and no amount of harping, whining, and guilt you or the rest of the Burg tries to pile on me will stop me from doing it. End of that discussion. Now, let's get to what you really want. Someone saw me with Ranger and promptly called you asking about why I'm running around with someone so dangerous and someone so outside of the Burg and instead of telling them to go to hell, you decided that it's time to try and set me up with some acceptable loser you scraped off of the bottom of your saddle shoes so they'd shut up. Am I right or am I right?"

" _Why do you always assume the worst of me?! You barely talk to me anymore and when you do, you treat me like I'm some lowlife on the streets! I am your mother whether you like it or not!"_

"I _**don't**_ like it. I don't like it at all and I assume the worst of you because that's what you've always given me. I have more respect for my Skips than you because they've earned it. Tell me something: if I'm such an embarrassment and a failure in your eyes, then why do you still call me? Why do you still ask after me? Why don't you just leave me alone and enjoy having the daughter that you actually love and wanted back under your thumb? Why don't you lose my number and pretend that you got rid of me like I know you would've if you weren't Catholic and if Dad would've let you? You wanted a boy or another perfect daughter. Since I'm not either option, I'm just a stupid piece of shit to you and a bitter disappointment to Dad. I get it. I didn't have any choice _**but**_ to get it and I'm not going to change who I am, Helen, just like you're not going to so why don't you just accept the situation for what it is, already?"

There was a long beat of silence and I could hear the phone receiver get slammed down onto the hallway table. I could also hear the bang of the swinging kitchen door opening and I sighed heavily. See, this is why I don't like dealing with Helen. No matter what I say or do, she's the victim and she can't take even a fraction of what she dishes out. If someone actually calls her on her shit, it's like the end of the world and everyone's always picking on her, especially me…

"She had me on speaker, didn't she?"

" _She did…Stepphie, I know that you and your mom don't get along. I've always known that but…is that how you really feel?"_

"Can you blame me, Gram? I mean, really?"

"… _no. Do you want me to talk to her, Baby Girl? She's diving into her not so secret bottle of Old Turkey now so I know she's not going anywhere any time soon…"_

"Don't bother. She won't change. Look, Gram, I'm going to get you a cell phone…"

" _I already have one. I'll text you the number. Do you want to talk to your father? He's in the Den."_

"No, but tell him that I still love him and I'll probably come visit at the Cab Company soon."

" _All right. Maybe we can get together this weekend. There's a spaghetti dinner and Bingo tournament at the VFW Hall and Ivan Nichols just passed away. It's gonna be an open casket…"_

"I'll come get you. I gotta go. I love you, Gram."

" _I love you too. Keep your head up."_

Turning off my Bluetooth, I pushed the door to Flyer's open and pulled my rolling suitcase of equipment through. The breeze was cold but that felt good on my exercise heated body. I had spent most of my time here doing machine work and cardio on the treadmill. I hate both. I'd rather be up in the air but if I don't keep up with my conditioning, my performances will suffer. I'll either run out of breath or I won't be able to pull myself up at a critical moment. Both situations can lead to injury and that's the last thing I need right now.

Actually, it's the second to last.

The last thing I need is for whoever is lurking near Jorge to get the drop on me.

They were dressed in dark clothing and sticking to the shadows but my Spidey sense was tingling hard. It wouldn't be the first time a Skip or someone related to one tried to do something to my car or to me personally to get me out of the way. That was the source of my nickname, The Bombshell Bounty Hunter, but I am **_not_ ** in the mood. I spent the whole day with Ranger, which was nice, but very frustrating to my hormones, hormones that are very, very angry at me for neglecting them.

Whoever this person is has picked the wrong day, the wrong time, and the wrong woman to mess with. They were also very sloppy because they weren't paying attention to my movements until the barbs from my long range Taser gun slammed hard into their chest. The would be assailant lurched and landed on the concrete with a thud. I released the trigger and used my remote control starter to turn on Jorge's engine and headlights so I could see who it was…

Against my will, a crazed giggle escaped me and I zapped him again for good measure.

Joe fucking Morelli.

Of course, it's Joe fucking Morelli.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note/HEADS UP: I've been having some severe computer troubles lately. It's not unexpected since my laptop (Melpomene) has been on her last legs for a while but now, the speakers are mostly dead except for when I use my headphones (which isn't a problem), the disk is running out of room (big problem!), it doesn't go into sleep mode anymore, and…well, the point is, if I go completely off the grid on here, I'm okay but my computer is not. Fortunately, I have a steady income that will be getting a 2016 boost from my state's increase in minimum wage just in time for electronics to go on sale.**

 **Whatever you do and don't celebrate this time of year, have a good time with it. Stay safe, sane, and have a good 2015-2016 transition!**

 **Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

 **4 Days Later…**

"So, he was telling the truth. He really didn't kill her."

"Benito Ramirez saw him talking to Carmen in an alley and thought that she was stepping out with him so he killed her and decided to set Joe up for it. Look, uh…Steph, I know you hate him. Everyone does. You could've just brought him in and taken the 50K but you didn't. You helped him clear his name and bust up Jimmy Alpha's heroin hustle to boot. Why?"

"Joe Morelli deserves to go to prison for something he actually did, Eddie. I was hoping that he was full of shit about being innocent but I had to be sure. I didn't want his death on my conscience."

"Well, you saved his ass and his career."

"Don't remind me. I did it for my nieces. Fucking Steve stole all of their college money when he left Val and Kloughn can barely put his shoes on the right feet half the time, much less practice law."

"Ain't that the truth. Your sister went from one yutz to another."

"Yeah, but at least actually Kloughn loves her and the girls. When can I get my gun back? I killed Alpha in self defense. The wire proves that so I want my gun back. I still need it for work."

"You can pick it up before you leave. Your car's been recovered but the damage…"

"I know. I figured it would be totaled."

"Do you…uh, do you need a ride home?"

"I've got a ride on the way. Can I go now?"

"Yeah."

I could feel Eddie's worried gaze on me as he escorted me back to the lobby. I could also hear the low toned conversations about my role in exonerating Morelli but the only thing I cared about was getting my gun and going home. I killed someone 2 nights ago. I pointed my gun at Jimmy Alpha and emptied 5 rounds into his heart and one into his head just to be sure. I then had charged forward and tazed Benito Ramirez into unconsciousness. I had set Jorge ablaze and pushed him downhill into the river to get the pair's attention away from Morelli, who they were beating the hell out of, and to me. Carmen Sanchez's body had been recovered and due to the wires Morelli and I had been wearing, there was a solid case against those who killed her. She would finally get justice. Morelli was a free man and the 46,780 dollars had been deposited in the bank, split between all 3 of my nieces.

I had achieved what I wanted to achieve but I still felt like shit for what I had to do.

As I mentioned before, I hate guns. I hate what guns can do but I had to do what I had to do so I could get out alive. Morelli still being alive was an unfortunate side effect of my actions but it was better than the alternative. Benito was notorious for his own brand of violence against women. Morelli men would slap women around and talk to them and about them like they were glorified whores/house servants. Benito would just go from Zen to Crazed at the slightest provocation. It made him a hell of an amateur boxer but an awful boyfriend and a worse man. He wasn't even a man. He was a beast in human skin and he had become fixated on me. I shudder to think of what could've happened to me if he had really gotten his hands on me.

Poor Carmen…at least she'll be able to rest in peace, now. She'll have a proper burial instead of rotting further in that fuel drum and the bastards who allowed her life to end so horribly would never hurt anyone else. That's something and that's something good to cling to.

Another good thing, another surprising person, was Ranger.

Ranger has been awesome. He worked with me without making me feel like a little kid playing dress up and he provided the wires I used to get evidence. Morelli had been less than pleased to see him when he regained consciousness in Flyer's parking lot but if Ranger hadn't been there, I would've gone from tazing him to putting bullets in him. Ranger listened to Morelli's explanation with a more objective ear than I ever could and that had led to me giving him until Saturday to prove his innocence. It couldn't do any harm, I figured. Morelli was a punk ass bitch and a liar. Helping him would only prove it…

It didn't prove that he was a liar and he was still a bitch in my eyes but not an utterly useless one.

Morelli had grown up and while he was still a chauvinistic and annoying pig overall, there was a good amount of decency in him. He had learned how to talk to a woman with respect and he had actually apologized for what happened between us in the past. The apology was years late and billions of dollars short but it was better than the justifications and the excuses. He actually acknowledged that he had been wrong to do what he did to me in his father's garage and especially at the Tasty Pastry.

I still won't forgive him but the show of maturity, along with the evidence we had unearthed that supported his innocence made me help him out. I had held out hope that he was full of shit but…well, it is what it is. Que sera, sera and all that jazz. Besides, just because he was innocent of Carmen Sanchez's murder and drug running didn't mean that he was immune to doing anything shady. Some of the dirtiest crooks in the world are cops and at the end of the day, decency aside, he's still a Morelli man. Morelli men are ego driven, self destructive fuck ups, the whole lot of them. Joe will eventually succumb to his DNA's legacy and I hope to be around to see it from a safe distance.

"Hey, Cupcake."

Speak of the Devil and he'll fly screaming out of your ass or follow you out the door. Instead of the ratty pull over hoodie and jeans I had last seen him in, Morelli was in a cheap but clean black suit. The bruising on his face was already healing well and he had his detective shield back, along with his service weapon. I took my own weapon out of the evidence bag and after making sure the safety was on (despite its bullets still being lodged in Jimmy Alpha), returned it to its usual place at the small of my back.

The look I gave him in response to the despised nickname could've toppled a red oak and he actually backed up a couple of steps. Good. Maybe if I keep working on my glare, I can get Skips to cuff themselves in the wake of it like Ranger's can.

"I meant Stephanie. Sorry. Can we talk for a second?"

"Sure. What do you want?"

"Can we talk in private?"

"No. What do you want? Make it quick. My ride's on the way."

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to get dinner. Maybe watch the Rangers game together…"

"No."

"No?"

"Hell to the no. Look, Morelli, just because I helped get you out of your murder jam doesn't mean that I'm going to fuck you again. We already tried that and it did not work out very well for either of us. I ended up sore, unsatisfied, and with my reputation blown to shit and you still limp when it rains. Time only goes forward for a reason and after what happened with The Dick, I swore on the blood of Ben and Jerry and on my Grandpa Mazur's grave that I wouldn't purposely get into another relationship with an asshole. I'll work with you if have to but other than that, we are not friends and you are not lover or boyfriend material to me."

"But Ranger fucking Manoso is? Come on…he's a loose cannon and a murdering psychopath!"

"So am I! It's why you're still alive and a cop, _**remember**_?"

"That…that's different, Cup…"

" **I am** _ **not**_ **a goddamned Cupcake**."

"That's entirely different, _**Stephanie**_."

"Is it? I'm not gonna lie. I do think that Ranger's the bee's knees and I want to fuck him raw but even if he wasn't in the picture, I still wouldn't want to be with you. Being with you would be like taking a thousand steps backward. It would be like growing down instead of growing up and I don't want to do that. Besides, you know damned well that we wouldn't last a month before I shot you or your mother or your crazy old drooling bat of a Grandma when she tried to give me her stupid Eye or worse, a damned fertility blessing. You'd want me to quit my job and be a proper housewife while you brought home the bacon. I don't want that life. I'm incapable of it."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit. You could do it if you wanted to."

"That's the thing: **I don't want to** and even if I _**did**_ want to, I wouldn't want to build that sort of life with you. You're still an asshole and I don't want to be responsible for the next generation of Morelli delinquents. I mean, think about it. The fact that you're the best of the bunch but it was still so fucking easy for people to believe that you were a dirty prostitute murdering, drug running cop says it all. Thanks but no thanks, man. I'd rather sew it shut. Now, is there anything else you want to talk to me about? No? Okay, bye."

"Stephanie…"

"The answer is no and unless you want me to taze you again, you need to accept that."

"I'll accept it but don't think I'll be waiting around when Manoso gets done with you, though."

"Oh, no…my poor wittle heart is broken and all of my hopes and dreams just died. Fuck off, pig."

I put my white tiger print Dre Beats headphones over my ears and turned my Gym playlist back on, the 90s classic of the Spice Girls' _**Wannabe**_ providing an amusing soundtrack for Morelli stalking like an enraged bull back inside the Precinct. It would be around the Burg within the hour that I had turned him down flat but I don't give a fuck.

Okay, I do but only because he'll be sure to tell everyone that'll listen I'm thirsty for Ranger. I'm so thirsty for Ranger, despite him being so much of mystery and a bad guy (funny how he wasn't bad when he was helping me save his sorry ass from the hoosegow...), that I turned him down, the Bad Boy turned Good Cop, the best of all Morelli sons, and all of that jazz.

I don't want Ranger to think that I'm a fan girl or a bimbo just trying to get in his pants or his wallet. I'd certainly like to get in his pants but I don't need his wallet. I just want him to be my Mentor and my friend and maybe my lover later on if he's interested, which he probably isn't.

He _ **isn't**_ , damn it!

No way in hell would a guy like Ranger want a broad like me, even just for a one off!

No way in hell would a guy like Ranger want me to be his girlfriend, lover, wife!

No way, no how, no dice!

It just doesn't work like that, not with me, anyway!

This is not a Katherine Heigl rom-com or a modern day Jane Austin novel!

This is the real life, not just fantasy, and I know that Ranger doesn't want me.

He _**doesn't**_.

So what if he listens to what I have to say? That's just him being a decent human being.

So what if he talks to me about personal things? That's just him establishing a friendship.

So what if he calls me Babe? I bet he has plenty of Babes in his life, past and present.

So what if he looks at my ass and my tits, sometimes? I have wonderful tits and my ass isn't bad either. I mean, why else would have Richard been so determined to stick his cock up it to the point of cheating on me with Joyce Barnyard when I wouldn't let him?

Okay, Richard cheated on me because he was an unfaithful lying scum sucking bastard but that's beside the point. That's the past and I'm not looking to dwell in the past anymore.

It's all about the present and _**presently**_ , I can tell anyone that'll listen that _**yes**_ , I'm thirsty for Ranger Manoso and _**yes**_ , it's pathetic but it'll never go anywhere. It's just a pie in the sky, world's about to end if it ever happened fantasy and that's how it'll stay. Okay? Okay.

Of course, I'm musing about all of this while reapplying my lipstick as I wait for him to pick me up and while giddy bird sized fizzing butterflies flutter in my stomach because I get to see him.

Ugh, I'm _**such**_ a fucking loser…


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Hey, everybody. My computer is still on its last legs but I've put a new laptop on layaway. I should have it home by the end of spring. Until then, I'm gonna keep the party going. My main fandom's off hiatus but I'll not forget about this story and I have not forgotten about** _ **Lock**_ **. I have to re-read it and then figure out how to wrap things up. I know what I want to do. I just have to write it out. I'm still disgusted with canon Stephanie but now, I'm of the attitude that if JE won't do right by her, then it's up to the fic writers.**

 **Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

 **One Month Later…**

" _Thanks for coming to get me…the docs said that I shouldn't drive…they gave me…I dunno what they gave me but it's some heavy duty shit…what're you doing?"_

" _I'm staying."_

" _Ranger…"_

" _You've already got a broken wrist. You don't need to give yourself a concussion, too."_

" _I can take care of myself, Ranger."_

" _I know you can."_

" _Well…just as long as you remember that, my home is your home…"_

* * *

How did I end up with a broken wrist, you're wondering? Well, it's all thanks to Matthew Miles Moriarty, a mid level Skip who was facing armed robbery charges. He had stuck up the local Stop n Go for Stark Street money and got caught up in an undercover buy sting. His idiot girlfriend, a Mary Magnolia Meadows (so many alliterations, so little time…) had bailed him out and had been hiding him at her apartment. He was cheating on her, he had a drinking problem, and yet, she had been so determined to protect his lousy ass, she had slammed the door on my right wrist.

Needless to say, I hadn't taken it very well.

She should've slammed it on my left wrist because as soon as I shouldered the door open, I decked her, drawing Matthew's ire. Apparently, _**he**_ was the only one who got to treat Mary like trash. I maced him blind, kicked him hard in the balls, and although it took me gritting my teeth to the cracking point, I managed to get my body receipt and my SUV to St. Francis' before lunchtime.

Well, _**Ranger's**_ SUV, technically. RangeMan has a fleet of black vehicles and he loaned me one to use. At the time, he had said given me but I was treating it as a loan, a temporary lease. I could afford to buy a new car myself. I could afford to buy 4 new cars but what kept me from doing it was a lack of time. I've got work coming out the ass, right now. It's getting towards summer time and the crime rate has been on the rise, along with Skips. Nobody wanted to go to court but it was more apparent when beach weather, vacation season, and heatwaves came into play.

For every Skip I brought in, 2 more popped up like weeds and I've been on the move. By the time I clock out, I'm barely awake enough to get home, much less go to a car dealership. And Ranger's SUV was nice, spacious, and connected to back up whenever I needed it. I hadn't used the option but to have it was nice. I can and will take care of myself. I am not a damsel in distress. I am the damsel causing the distress.

 **I am the danger!**

I am also still quite stoned from whatever they put in those painkillers and I'm starving. I had a hardboiled egg sliced over cheesy toast, a few berries, and one of those Carnation drinks before going to get Moriarty but nothing else. The hospital had given me some juice and graham crackers after setting my wrist but that was not food. I needed food and I had some chicken tikka masala with pork kimchi dumplings in the fridge.

After successfully getting to the bottom of the white spiral staircase that led to my loft bedroom, I sighed. After deciding to stay in the Trenton area, I had snapped up an old firehouse that had been converted into a beautiful home. Other than the master loft suite, there were two other bedrooms, one I used as an office and the other a guest, 2 and a half bathrooms, and a large kitchen that I barely used other than the microwave, fridge, and George Foreman grill. I furnished my place with things from New Mexico, along with finds from the internet and local antique shops. There were bold colors, funky accessories, classic pieces, and clean quiet, clean quiet that I had grown to appreciate during my time away. Trenton was loud and smoggy. The Burg was loud and judgmental. My family's full of mayhem. From Helen's harping about respectability to Grandma's vocal love of all things fun to my father's TV blasting, there was no peace, no privacy, no space.

I have my own space, now and while I could appreciate a bit of loudness, a bit of mayhem, I love that I have a retreat, an oasis, an actual happy place to go with the one I made inside my head.

In the kitchen, I pulled out my favorite bowl (a mile deep black ceramic one with little white dragonflies on it) along with a tall glass, placing them on the counter. I needed to finish off the gallon of chocolate milk I had bought and it would go well with my leftovers. It was sweet and smooth and actually pretty healthy, healthier than soda that I was trying to cut down on.

Turning away from the fridge, I nearly went into orbit. I had forgotten that Ranger was still in my place and apparently, he had one hell of a stealth mode because I didn't even hear him tread on the squeaky floorboard. I really should get it fixed, now that I think about it, although it makes a nice early warning system. If someone comes to try and give me problems while I'm sleeping, I can hear the floorboard and get to a weapon faster or at least find a good hiding place, y'know?

"Do you need any help?"

My mouth was bone dry but not because of the meds still in my system. Ranger had taken off his boots and his shirt. His cargo pants were unsnapped and I could see _**everything**_.

If I thought that he was gorgeous in the diner, that was nothing compared to what I was looking at now. He's acres and acres of muscle, soft looking earth toned skin, just the right amount of body hair and just…damn. How does he even walk with that thing? It's not even hard but the print of it alone… _ **wow**_. Did he ask me a question? I think he asked me a question…

" _Huh?_ "

"Do you need any help?"

"Um, no…no, I'm good. Just hungry. Are you hungry? I think I've got enough left to share…"

"I'm good, Babe."

Does he _**have**_ to call me Babe? I mean, it's not that I don't like it because I do but really, he should _**not**_ be calling me Babe when it's 2AM and he's all sexy. Actually, sexiness is 24/7/365 plus a day for Leap Years for Ranger but really, it's unfair. And _**of course**_ , he's looking like he just stepped out of a GI themed centerfold when I'm looking like a half dead college student in my faded pink cheeky panties with little Tanooki Marios all over them and a threadbare white tank top. No bra, black plaster cast, chipped red pedicure, and my hair had escaped from the ponytail I put it in so it was 80s hair band on a bender chic.

I'm a hot mess.

Oh, God…why do I even care? It's 2AM and I'm in my own house, for chrissakes! What am I supposed to look like, a Vicky S angel? Jeez! I mean, I _**am**_ a Jersey girl with Jersey girl pride but it's not like Ranger sees me as more than a colleague, a mentee, a friend. Ranger and I are friends, starting to become good friends, even. He's nice to me without wanting something, he respects my judgment, and he fetched me from the hospital. Not only did he come and get me, he was genuinely concerned about my welfare, asking the doctors all sorts of questions. And then, he had given me his jacket, a buttery soft black leather bomber that smelled of expensive polish, gun oil, and Bvlgari Green.

I recognized the Bvlgari scent immediately because I use the entire White Tea collection. It's a bit of a splurge but just because I do a job that has me packing heat, dodging trash, and busting bones doesn't mean that I can't be girly. I love to wear heels, do my makeup, smell really good and I particularly like it when my skin is touchably soft. Sure, nobody but me is touching it but that's okay. Self care is important to self esteem and god knows I could use all the help I can get in that department.

The microwave dinged and I took out my bowl of steamy fusion goodness, hoping that a full belly would be a sufficient enough distraction from the steamy Cuban goodness that was still in my house at 2AM with no shirt.

Did I mention there's a distinct lack of undergarments involved with said shirtlessness?

"Are you sure I can't get you anything to eat? A beer, maybe?"

"I'm good, Babe."

After Midnight snacking means that table manners go out the window so I just dug in with my free fingers, moaning softly as flavor exploded on my tastebuds. I may not be able to cook more than basic survival dishes (and those are hit or miss!) but I certainly love to eat. If it tastes good, I'll let you know. Mary Lou once called my good food noises orgasmic noises but I'll take her word for it. All the sex I've ever had me moaning in relief that it was over, not out of genuine pleasure.

I was with men who only cared about their own needs. They were literal and figurative selfish dicks, selfish wandering dicks. My first orgasm, my first real, back arching, toe curling orgasm had come from my own hands and Rabbit. Morelli and Richard hadn't even tried to pleasure me past a few strokes and gropes that didn't even feel good. I was nothing but a warm hole, a conquest, a living redecorating project to them. They wanted my body but not my soul. When I didn't behave like they wanted me to, they left but not before fucking me over.

Now, do you get why I'm so jaded when it comes to men?

I've only been with two and not only were they garbage, they treated me like garbage. They both hurt me and I don't want that sort of hurt again. It's better to be alone. Well, not _**better**_ but it's safer. I'd rather spend the rest of my life alone than to give it up to some jerk again. Good men don't like me…

"That's not true, Stephanie."

"Did I say that out loud?"

"You did and it's not true."

"Oh, really? Morelli and my ex husband prove otherwise. The only men who like me are assholes and…"

" _ **I**_ like you. Does that mean I'm an asshole?"

"I didn't mean friendship like, Ranger."

"… **neither did I**."

Oh.

 _ **Oh!**_

" _Ranger_ …"

"You didn't see it?"

"I…I just thought that you were being a good friend, a good mentor. I never…what the hell would you want to be with _**me**_ for?"

"Why wouldn't I? You're kind, you're brilliant, you're beautiful, and you're not afraid of me. You don't see me as a walking gun or a meal ticket…"

"Because you're not. I mean, yeah, you're loaded and can kill someone with a melon baller but those are only small parts of you. You're a good man. A strange man, sometimes but really good. That's why I…yeah…"

"So, you like me, then?"

"I didn't mean to like you. It was an accident."

His chuckle was deep but not malicious, making me want to smile instead of cry. A big part of me, the one fueled by my Hungarian Hormones and soft heart wants to jump him now but the other is screaming ' **DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!** ' at the top of its lungs. I know how to deal with assholes and how to protect myself from them. I'm used to them.

Ranger is a whole other type of man than what I'm used to. He's not an asshole or if he is, he keeps it firmly in check. He's proven to be trustworthy and he's just so damned fine…he really likes me? Like seriously likes me? Huh. Talk about your Cinderella story… okay no, not Cinderella. Prince Charming was kind of a douche and pretty stupid for not remembering her face. How are you supposed to appreciate your true love if you don't even know what they look like when they're not all dressed up? And the glass slipper thing was pretty creepy, honestly…what was I thinking about again?

"You need to take another dose of your painkillers."

"I don't know if I should…they make me really loopy…"

"Being loopy is better than being in pain and I'll stay with you."

"…okay. You go get whatever you need from the guest room and I'll…I'll meet you upstairs."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: You guys deserve a better author than me. Like dead ass. I've been so absorbed in other fandoms, it's just been…damn. I've been doing some Frank Ocean type shit to you guys. Sorry. Special shoutout to Margaret who has been keeping in contact with me and thank you to all of those who kept reading this and** _ **Lock**_ **because…yeah. I'll try my best to do better. I still haven't gotten my new laptop but it's only one payment to go and I may not even have to make it. I dunno. What I do know is that you've been waiting so patiently for an update and here it is. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

 **Ranger's POV**

I want to find every person who has let the woman sleeping next to me down and slaughter them.

I want to torture them very slowly and _**then**_ slaughter them.

This woman makes me more homicidal than I already am and I'm still undecided as whether that's a good thing or not. Time will tell, I suppose.

For Stephanie Plum to think so lowly of herself that she would immediately assume that anyone having fond feelings for her is joking or trying to manipulate her is absolutely unacceptable. It is obscenely wrong and only years of people fucking her over, people she trusted constantly fucking her over could implant that idea. How many people have made her feel like shit for being herself? How many people have stomped on her dreams because they weren't 'normal'? How many times has her heart been broken, not just by men but by people who were supposed to be friends and family?

How many tears did she shed before she decided that they didn't matter because no one but her would wipe them away?

She cries in her sleep.

Part of my mind wants to write it off as a side effect to her very strong pain meds but the rest of it, my instincts know that it's a regular occurrence. She's curled up in a loose fetal position, her injured wrist propped up, and I can see the dried tracks on her cheeks. Carefully, I wiped some fresh ones away and resisted the urges to kiss her brow or hold her. She wouldn't like that or she would briefly before wondering what my angle is. Stephanie is guarded around men. She's jaded about men, human nature overall, and skittish about romance.

I can't say that I blame her.

"Good men don't like me.", she said. She said it like she was saying the sky is blue and fire burns. She said it with no hurt and very little anger about it. To her, it's just the way life is.

It only takes one bad experience to fuck someone up and she's had 2 bad experiences in a row.

Not only were they bad experiences, they were publicly humiliating. She tried to do everything "right" in her community's eyes with the sniveling Orr fuckhead after being "ruined" by Morelli's punk ass and after it all fell apart, she had to move almost 3000 miles away to get peace. She had done very well for herself in New Mexico. If I were her, I would've stayed away from Trenton, from Chambersburg forever but she's far a better person than I am.

She's probably expecting me to be _**Pendejo**_ #3 but that's not how it's going to go down.

/

 **Steph's POV**

So, it wasn't a dream or a trippy hallucination.

He was really here.

Last night had actually happened!

Ranger had stayed with me and told me that he liked me, not just as a colleague but as a _**woman**_.

It was against all logic and common sense but it seems that my life's become a maligned Katherine Heigl rom-com, after all. Or maybe a reboot of the **Bridget Jones** series only without any love triangles (except for in Morelli's tiny little mind…) and Trenton, New Jersey smog instead of London, England fog…plus I've never had any major problems with my weight. Honestly, I should've by now.

The way I ate before I left for New Mexico made a college kid's diet look like one of those Vegan cleanses the internet is always raving about and with all the stress in my life? I guess it's something to be grateful for from the Mazur DNA. The metabolism kept me from Type 2 diabetes. The rest I could take or leave, especially the Hungarian Hormones…Hormones…

Typical.

I get a hot man in my bed and not only was there no sex or even a good kiss, I wake up looking like a train wreck. Of course, he already saw me during my midnight snacking so there's no real reason for me to be sheepish. But, still…there he is, looking like all sorts of delicious and I'm just… _ **me**_. As usual. Fuck. And I was _**so**_ happy to see him, too!

What the hell does he want to be with me for, anyway? Did he lose a bet?

"I told you why last night."

"…did I say that out loud?"

"No. You have an expressive face. You were happy to see me until you decided that you looked like shit and then you were wondering why I would want someone like you. Why is that?"

"Why is _**what**_?"

"You see yourself as a pain in the ass or a curse. **You're not**. Did people in your life fuck you up that badly?"

"… _yeah_. Well, _**most**_ of them. Not all of them."

Mary Lou never fucked me up. She's a better sister than the one I share blood and parents with. She's always been in my corner. And Gram…I mean, she's had her Moments but overall, I've never doubted for a second that Edna Mazur loves me for me. Grandpa Harry did, too but he's gone, now…

"Got any names and addresses for me?"

"No, I don't because you'll take them all out and you shouldn't have to go to prison because of their shit splattering on me."

"They would need to have the bodies and bullets to convict me, Babe. I don't leave that sort of evidence behind unless I want to and even then, they can't connect it to me enough for charges."

Instead of dignifying those hopefully joking remarks with a response, I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom to answer nature's pressing call. Other than its distance from the Burg and just the charm of it, the master bathroom is what sold me on this place. Ceramic tile on the floor made a lovely seascape design, the claw foot tub was deep enough to hold two giants, and the shower…oh, the shower. There was one showerhead directly overhead, two sprayers mounted on each wall, and a detachable one with 9 settings. All 9 of them have been tested in all ways and they are _**very much**_ approved of by me.

I'd love to test them out with Ranger, find out his favorite. That could be fun.

Anything involving Ranger and nudity could be very fun.

Coming to the vanity, I washed my hands properly and picked up the spray bottle that contained a blend of dentangler, water, and oil. It took a lot of trial and cringing error but I finally came up with a homemade concoction that can tame my curls enough to be styled properly. Of course, thanks to the M Alliteration Undynamic Duo yesterday, there's a slight hiccup here. My broken, plaster imprisoned wrist. I'm left handed but I use my right hand for lots of things. I'm actually ambidextrous when it comes to handwriting, driving and using utensils but everywhere else? Not so much. I can get by on my own but…well, he just said that I'm not a pain in his ass, didn't he?

"Um…you wouldn't happen to know how to brush hair, would you?"

There was the softest squeak of my mattress as Ranger got up and again, no audible footsteps as he joined me. He was still very shirtless and the button of his cargoes was still undone. He came up behind me and I was struck by how right he looks with me. The Dick and I never looked this comfortable together during our brief marriage and Morelli? Forget it. I know that we'd be just as wrong.

Actually, both "men" wouldn't come near me with a ten foot pole until I was _**presentable**_ and I'd probably be embroiled in an argument right now about my life's decisions. They would say that they're concerned about me but really, it would be all about them. My job is too dangerous, it makes them worry and it's _**so embarrassing**_ to have to explain why I'd rather work than trust them to take care of me…yeah, whatever. It's one thing to show concern, it's a whole other animal to be emotionally abusive and manipulative. Helen helped me realize the difference…oh, great. _**Helen.**_ Yet another problem to deal with eventually. As far as I am from The Burg, its Grapevine is as unstoppable as The Force and I'm one of its favorite subjects.

How much money I'm still wringing out of The Dick, my job, the fact that I killed 2 men, the fact that I turned down a Morelli, the best Morelli son in favor of an Outsider, _**The**_ Outsider…stupid gossip…stupid _**gossipers**_. See, that's yet another reason not to follow in Helen or The Burg's footsteps. They're so trapped and unfulfilled with their "normal" lives, their best entertainment is to pick apart other people's. Everyone's in a glass house, everyone's got an Olympic scorecard ready to reveal, whether it's asked for or not.

Assholes.

Somebody had to hear about my wrist, see my hospital visit, and see Ranger escort me home like a boyfriend. _**Is**_ he my boyfriend? Is that what we're doing, now? I mean, since he likes me and I certainly like him, shouldn't we be a couple, now? Or friends with benefits? Something?

I'm so confused. Some of it is from the painkillers still in my system but…I don't know what to do here. I don't know what to expect. Thankfully, Ranger isn't behaving like the "men" I've dealt with before but this is uncharted territory. I know how to deal with an asshole.

What the hell am I supposed to do with a good man? Do I walk him? What does he eat?

Does he like belly rubs?

"How did you get so good with a woman's hair?"

My hair had gone from rat's nest to soft mane within 5 minutes and the brush glided through like a hot knife through butter. His fingers were gentle and he knew how to use the comb just right so it didn't even hurt. Usually, detangling my mane of Curls hurts like a bitch for the first 10 minutes.

"I have 4 older sisters, a dozen female cousins, 2 grandmothers, 4 aunts, a mother, and a daughter. I know how to do hair. I didn't have a choice."

"You have a daughter?"

"Her name is Julia Rose Martine. We call her Julie or Jules. She's 14 going on 30 and she lives in Miami with my ex-wife Rachel. We were friends with benefits for years and the condom broke so I did the honorable thing. We still got along well but after I got into the Army and the attached lifestyle, we divorced so Julie could have a chance to have an actual father in her life. I signed over my parental rights after I got into the Rangers. Rachel married a good man, a normal man named Ron and I still see Julie when I go down there for business."

"RangeMan has an office, there. There are offices in Boston and Atlanta, too and you're looking to expand into the Chicagoland Area."

"You did your homework."

"I wanted the best helping me with Morelli's case…um, Ranger?"

"Yeah, Babe?"

"How did I get Morelli's case in the first place? Usually big fish like that go straight to you."

"I turned it down so Vinnie would give it to you so I could meet you."

"Seriously? Why'd you do that? If you wanted to meet me, all you had to do was come into the Bonds Office and say hi. I'm always there."

"I try to stay out of the Office as much as possible. Connie's good people but Vinnie…"

"Yeah, I hear you. Try being related to him and sharing holiday meals with him. Ick. Especially when the little punk bitch decides to bring a skank date along and leave his wife at home."

One of the absolute last straws that had me leaving Trenton was when the little fucker had brought Joyce fucking Barnyard to Christmas Eve dinner. It was shortly after the Divorce went through and she had a huge axe to grind against me. Oozing Dickhead had promised her that he'd be with her no matter how the divorce turned out but my wiping him out so thoroughly, so mercilessly had left him a broken man. His parents and grandparents even put him up in one of those fancy psych wards, the ones that were like a retreat.

He was done with women of all kinds and he wanted to focus on rebuilding his all too precious Career. Not only had the Sex Tape ended our sham of a marriage, all credibility he had as an attorney, all his political capital dried up like the Waters of Babylon. The lion's share of the Blame went to me (as per fucking _**usual**_!) but The Dick had put the word out to the region's Rich and Creamy before they shunned him: **avoid all things Barnyard. Her sex is good** (I guess it is if you're into hardcore kink and fleas…) **but not good enough to risk ruination.**

Due to that, Joyce's dating pool had dried up to local big fish and Vinnie's one of them. He's also a horny, perverted, easily manipulated pansy boy, Joyce's perfect type. So, she latched onto him and Vinnie had brought her to Christmas Eve dinner. Helen being Helen had of course welcomed her so when I ended up dumping the cheesy garlic mashed potatoes on Joyce's lap before busting a wine glass over her fat head, it was my fault. God, I was _**such**_ an embarrassment…at least nobody called the cops on me. Everyone knew what depravity Joyce had been a part of and if word had gotten out that Helen broken bread with her on a Holy Day, the tongues would've wagged so fast that they would've flown into the Delaware.

The shame would've been too much to bear. It's all about the Reputation, you see…

Joy to the motherfucking World.

I should've barbequed Barnyard's head like Barney's. Maybe I'd be happier, in prison forever but happier. Maybe. Probably not.

I'd say the same about Helen but like it or not, she's my mother so she can keep living her life far away from me. It's unlikely that her Community standing and malignant ego will allow her to just leave me alone forever but I'll burn that bridge when I get to it.

Back to more pressing matters…

"You gave up 50 grand and a chance to bust a Dirty Cop to meet me? You liked me _**that**_ much?"

"Yeah. I still do, Stephanie."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or to call you an idiot."

"Go with both."

"Both, it is. I'm hungry. Wanna go get some steak? I'm buying."

"We'll go Dutch."

 _ **/**_

 **Ranger's POV**

"...shit is supposed to come out of your ass, not your mouth. Try again and tell the truth."

I am a sick man.

I should not be turned on at the sight of her glaring at Morelli like he had just took a shit on her fuck me heels. I should not be turned on at the utter frostiness of her tone and I certainly should not be hoping that she takes the steak knife in her hand and jams it through the annoying fuck's eye socket and yet…

I'm a sick, twisted son of a bitch and Stephanie Plum is gonna be the death of me.

I'll die a very happy man.

Of course, Morelli is about why he's standing at our booth. The steakhouse 2 blocks from Babe's place is one of the best in the area and as far off the beaten track for Trenton PD cops as possible. Typically, they stick with Pino's or the Tasty Pastry, Rossini's if they're trying to get laid and Shorty's if they're feeling like a badass. Nathan's Steakhouse is about 15 miles and 40 bucks richer than the norm.

Plus, if Trenton PD really wanted to follow up on the Alpha Case, why the fuck would they send one of the key players involved in it? That leaves the door wide open for the Defense to say that there's a Conspiracy going on, evidence tampering…all of those facts Stephanie calmly pointed out before throwing down the Gauntlet.

Brilliant, badass, beautiful, resourceful, hilarious, sweet as pie, and emotionally damaged…fuck. No wonder Cupid busted a love cap in my ass, as Tank so elegantly put it. Stephanie Plum is fucking irresistible to me on all levels, particularly when she's in lace. She had come downstairs in a stretchy cobalt sleeveless lace and cotton dress to accommodate her cast and her skin fucking glowed. Her hair was up, exposing her elegant neck and shoulders. She had on a different pair of lacy platform boots than our first meeting, dark gray with laces that matched her dress and she was just…I need to pull it together. I need to calm the fuck down before I throw her down on a table and wrap her legs around my hips.

What is it about this woman that makes me want to wax poetic and tie her to my headboard if she'd allow me? Why do I want her to tie me to my headboard? Usually, I don't allow that but Stephanie is proving to be an exception to every rule in my book.

"Cupcake…"

" **I am** _ **not**_ **a goddamned Cupcake.** "

" _ **Stephanie**_ , I just…can we talk alone?"

"I'm still eating and whatever you've got to say to me, you can say in front of him. I'm gonna tell him anyway. Other than Mary Lou, Ranger's my best friend. He's my work partner and now, he's my boyfriend."

" _ **Boyfriend?**_ "

"Boyfriend. Lover. Bae. Significant Other. _**Inamorato**_ , the Deadshot to my Harley Quinn…take your pick and swallow it whole, Morelli. I told you that I wasn't interested in screwing you again and we're never gonna be friends. Too much shit has happened between us for us to be friends."

She's saying all of this while continuing her steady assault on her well done T-Bone steak, eggs over easy, and home fries. She has already devoured a spinach salad and steamed beets before her entrée. I am impressed. I never thought anyone could out eat Tank, Santos, or Ram until I met my Babe and she _**is**_ my Babe. As long as she wants to be and wants me around, I'm staying, whether anyone likes it or not.

Joe Morelli does not like it at all.

The purple face, clenching fists, and pulsing temple veins when I rested a hand on her knee proves that.

Fuck him. He had his chance to be with her and pissed it away being an immature pig and rapist.

The stupid motherfucker can choke.

He's lucky that he's still alive. If I were Steph, I would've killed him with that car and just what the hell is wrong with Frank Plum that Morelli lived long enough to be bothering her now? Is he sick or something? Steph mentioned him being a good man but not very useful. Is it a physical malady or a mental one? Looking into her, I saw that her father had served in the military during the Vietnam conflict. I know better than most how combat can change a man for the worst…

"Do you realize…"

"We've already had this discussion, Morelli. Ranger _**is**_ dangerous but he's never been dangerous to _**me**_ and I'm just as dangerous. If it comes to it, I can take a man down and make him regret even thinking of hurting me. Jimmy Alpha learned that lesson. So did Benito Ramirez and everyone knows how you learned. You're looking for Round 2? If an old school Buick can put you in traction for 3 months, what do you think a modern SUV can do to you?"

"Are you threatening an officer of the law?"

"I'm not threatening anyone except an idiot who won't take a hint. You're not here as a Cop. You're in cheap civilian clothes and driving your own vehicle. Where's your badge, Detective and where's my thank you for your still being a Detective? After all, if it wasn't for me, you'd be someone's bottom in the pokey or sleeping with the fishes in the Delaware. Typical Morelli man. Ungrateful and stupid to the Core…can you believe that he's the best of the bunch, Ranger?"

"That's sad, Babe."

"It is."

Morelli looked like a trapped rat and a pressure cooker about to blow. He knows that he can't truly make a scene because word would get back to his superiors. He just got out of the Hot Seat, thanks to Steph and I'm sure that he's not looking to return to it. Not to mention the Burg Grapevine that Steph explained to me in Pino's…don't people have better things to do than gossip? Aren't there classes they can take or day jobs around Chambersburg? The Button Factory's always hiring and Trenton has university satellites in it, along with a YMCA. What is the fucking problem?

"Your mother called me last night and…"

"I don't have a mother. I have an Incubator. Excuse me, can I get a box for this?"

"For Christ's sake, Stephanie! Can you just fucking let me talk?! Why are you always such a goddamned cunt to me, like you're so much better than me?! Why don't you take the chip off of your shoulder and get over it?! It was fucking _**years**_ ago! How long are you gonna keep playing the victim?!"

 **Enough**.

I stood up slowly and got between Morelli and Stephanie, feeling a strong urge to strangle him. The urge was rapidly becoming a need as I saw a flash of fear in his gaze. He's big and bad when it comes to trying to strong arm a woman into his bedroom but he can't stand his ground? He can't face the distinct possibility of an earned beatdown with dignity? I see how it is. Babe's assessment of Joe Morelli being a punk ass bitch is completely accurate.

"You do not talk to her like that. **Ever**. What is wrong with you? Who raised you to think that talking to a woman like she's a piece of trash is okay? Wolves?"

"Look, Manoso, I don't know what you think you know about her and me but…"

" **You do not disrespect or raise your voice at her. Ever.** She doesn't want to talk to you. She doesn't want to hear whatever you've got to say. She doesn't want to be friends with you. She doesn't want to warm your bed. Leave her alone or when she's done kicking your ass, you'll deal with me. You do not want to deal with me, Morelli and _**no**_ , that's not a threat. It's a promise."

The owner came to our table and held up his iPhone, his finger hovering over the button to 911.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave and never return. You're disturbing the other patrons and it's clear that this young woman is right to turn you down. Her companion is right and you are wrong. You have one minute to leave my place or I will call the proper authorities."

Morelli swallowed back whatever else he was going to say and stalked out, the sound of his car peeling out loud in the silent restaurant. There were only a few elderly patrons from a nearby nursing home scattered throughout the room and when I focused on Stephanie, I was struck by how sad she looked. As I said earlier, she has a very expressive face and Morelli's words had gotten her. She wasn't being unreasonable. Morelli had hurt her deeply in the past and although he was better than he was back then, he was still a piece of shit. She had every right not to trust him or want him.

Every woman has the God given Right to say No and to have that No be respected. Having not gotten what he wanted, Morelli did the typical bully thing and went on the offensive, wanting to cut her to the quick before retreating. _**Estúpido hijo de puta**_ …

"I'm sorry about that."

"Why are you apologizing for him being himself?"

"I'm not apologizing for Joe being an asshole. That would be like apologizing for the sky being blue or water being wet. I'm apologizing because you got caught up in some very public bullshit on my behalf. Thanks for sticking up for me, by the way. Nobody…nobody's done for me in a very long time."

"Get used to it, Stephanie. Nobody fucks with you and gets away with it. **Ever**."


	8. A Personal Note to All Readers

**To all those reading and wondering where I've been:** It's been a crazy few months. I've had some issues with my laptop files and as I've mentioned before, my little sister Sara was diagnosed with cancer last fall. My Sara Elizabeth, my Bunny had an inoperable brain tumor and after 16 months of fighting, of enduring hell, she passed away yesterday morning. It was…heartbreaking is the best word I've got to describe it but at the same time, my Bunny is now at peace. Her cancer ( **DIPG, if you want to look it up…I wouldn't recommend it. It's brutal** ) took away a lot of her joy, her fire, and her body turned against her towards the end.

She was _**surviving**_ , not living and although I will miss the hell out of her, I am so glad that she's free and with my faith, I know that not only will I see her again, I know that when I do she will be happy, healthy, and most likely making me run like hell after her while she rides her bike like Tony Hawk's cousin. LOL!

" **Why are you making me run, woman? You know I'm in the wrong bra for this!"**

" **Quit complaining and keep up, Grumpy Bunny!"**

Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm still around in fandom and I still intend to keep writing. I've frequently said that writing helps to anchor me and Sara would totally kick my ass if I gave up something that I genuinely adore to do. **All she wanted in her last days were to 1) not be alone in a hospital as she passed (which she wasn't, thank God. We were all there for her) and 2) for us all to live and be happy. So, that's what I'm gonna do.**

 **One day at a time.**

 **I miss my girl so much but it's gonna be okay. In the now immortal words of Kendrick Lamar: we gon' be all right.**

I'm working on another super long TWD fic right now but I'll be returning to the WIPs (yes, all of them) as soon as I get the files on my new laptop.

 **Mad Love, Jam, and Power Drills (or Pythons and Sketti Rings to The Walking Dead folks) to all of you, ~*CMW2/Trumpetnista*~**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Good afternoon, folks. So, I FINALLY have the correct computer with the correct writing aid (Word Online is awesome. Installing it sucks but it's awesome) and due to new movies out plus the return of my shows (** _ **GOTHAM**_ **, what's left of** _ **SCANDAL**_ **and** _ **The Walking Dead**_ **sans the midseason finale because seriously? What the FUCK?** **), I am in the mood to do some serious writing, which is awesome. I haven't really** _ **wanted**_ **to write, like genuinely enjoyed it since before I lost my Bunny so that's a good sign of healing and with healing comes rediscovering/discovering the things I love. It's been a tough but good year of recovery for me and I hope that it continues into 2018.**

 **I want to thank all of you guys for your love, your support, and especially your patience. This story's gonna last for a good little while but** _ **Lock**_ **will be finished soon. Enjoy the latest, have a safe and good time with whatever you do and don't celebrate during this time of year and have a good one!**

 **Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

 **Two Weeks Later...**

 **Steph's POV**

So, instead of continuing to avoid The Burg and its inevitable bullshit, I decided to face it head on.

There were three reasons for this decision.

 **First** , I stopped being scared of their bullshit a long time ago. I'm annoyed by it but I'm not afraid of it, anymore. There's no reason to avoid it...okay, yes, there is. If it's not Helen herself harping or Morelli looking to "apologize" before having another hissy fit when I tell him to fuck off, it's gonna be someone else. It's _**always**_ someone else. After all, the best entertainment is gossip and drama, causing and witnessing it.

Even after all of these years, I'm a favorite subject for their scrutiny and I hate it.

Shouldn't they have found someone else by now? This is the age of the Kardashians and Taylor Swift. Why couldn't they focus on them or some other celebrity? And I'm not the only local that's worth talking about, far from it, actually. I mean, last time I checked Joyce was still roaming around town in more ways than one. Leave me alone. Okay, gossip is wrong, even against shitty/slutty people like Joyce but seriously? **Leave me the fuck alone**. **Go away**.

The world would be a better place if people just learned to mind their business altogether but I know that is way too much to ask for.

The **second** reason that I went into The Burg today is that I needed to follow up with the doctors about my wrist. It's healing pretty nicely so far but I needed to know how to make it heal faster, if I could and if I couldn't, can I get back to living my life? I know that most of my workouts are out of the question but can I keep working? I don't need to work but I really want to. I'm a Bounty Hunter, goddamn it. I'm a fucking good Bounty Hunter and I really don't want to be sidelined for too long. Bounty Hunting is one of those things like speaking a language or some other special skill: use it or lose it.

The doctor said that as long as I'm careful, I can get back into the swing of things.

Sadly, I can't get back in the air just yet but that's okay. There's plenty of things I _**can**_ do.

Plus, I needed to fill my new painkiller prescription. Now that the initial damage has healed, I don't need the Vicodin anymore and boy, am I grateful for that!

I'm already loopy enough without all that stuff in my system, thank you very much.

 **The third (and most important), reason why I'm in The Burg right now is that Ranger wants to see me at his place for a lunch date.**

RangeMan Trenton is housed in a 7-story red brick building on Haywood and it's known as The Fortress around town. He lives on the 7th floor.

Nobody but his People and his Clients are allowed inside past the lobby without an appointment. Its security is 24/7/365. The parking garage is well lit and full of cameras. There's two gates to get into the parking garage, one of the usual lift and go types and then an automatic fence that slides across. Everything is accessed by 6-digit codes that change every other day or if you've got one, a fob that acts as a universal key to pretty much everything.

Ranger gave me one after he saw me home safely after the Restaurant Incident.

There aren't any windows until you look to the 4th floor going up and I'm pretty sure that whatever glass is used in them is bulletproof. Hell, knowing Ranger as I've come to, it's likely explosion proof, too. To my man, preparedness is the key to everything. Of course, one can't predict the future or even intercept the threats before they land but if there's a Plan in place, if there are protections in place, then things will usually work out in one's favor. Ranger knows that and acts in accordance because he's Ranger and he's awesome.

My man is a smart and very awesome man.

 _My man_...Ranger is my man.

 **Ricardo Carlos Manoso is my man.**

He's _**mine**_.

I still can't believe it.

Ranger, who could have anyone he wanted in the world, married or otherwise, chose _**me**_.

Not only did he choose me, he continues to choose me. He has seen me and he wants to be with me for me. He doesn't want to change me or to be with despite me. Ranger just wants me. No man that I've been with has ever been like that. Hell, most of the people around me haven't been like that. With very few exceptions (Mary Lou, Gram, Grandpa Harry...), I've been seen as a project to work on or someone to put up with out of obligation, genetic or legal. Ranger is different. He's special and yeah, I know that sounds twee as all get out but he _**is**_ special. He's a complete 360 from the "men" I found myself with in the past. With Morelli and Dickie, there was always a disconnect between us, a Gut feeling of wrongness that turned out to be correct in all the worst ways.

Ranger feels right.

He feels _**good**_.

It's all very exhilarating yet confusing but I'll tell you one thing: I'll be damned if I let other people's bullshit or my own ruin it. I spent years allowing that sort of thing to happen to me. I spent years being miserable when I didn't have to be and I'm not going back to living like that.

I'm still not too sure on how to go forward but I'm not going back.

 **No. Fucking. Way.**

Never again...

The ringing of my phone broke through my reverie and I smiled as I looked at the display.

"Hey, Ranger."

" _Where are you, Babe?_ "

"I stopped at the market after the pharmacy. I didn't want to come over empty handed. Am I late?"

 _"No, you're fine. I just...I just wanted to hear your voice sooner rather than later."_

A broad and downright goofy grin lit up my face at that and I replied, "Well, you're hearing me. Any requests while I'm here? I picked up some sparkling grape juice and some brie but that's it so far."

" _Just you. Everything else is handled._ "

"Are you sure?"

" _Positive._ "

"Okay. I'll be there soon."

" _Good. Call me when you're here. I'll meet you downstairs._ "

His phone manners leave much to be desired but that's something we can work on.

Turning my attention back to the display case, I picked out some hard salami and while walking towards checkout, a bag of apple slices and a jar of honey. I know that when Ranger says something is handled, it is but one of the few Burg Commandments that I agree with is to never show up to someone's place empty handed. Usually, I just pick up a six pack or something sweet to share with Mary Lou when I go visit her but again, this is different. This is _**Carlos**_. I don't need to put on airs or make a good impression but I still _**want**_ to and... oh my god, I'm a mess! A good mess but a mess! I've got bird sized fizzing butterflies in my stomach and I feel like a giddy teenager...a _**horny**_ giddy teenager.

Fuck, I'm _**so**_ horny.

Like I said before, it has been a very long time since I had any kind of sex and as for having _**good**_ sex? Well, hope springs eternal, especially now that Ranger and I are definitely a thing.

I'm his Babe, now.

With that in mind, I took a detour and went down Aisle 8. Aisle 8 has things like seasonal knickknacks, travel sized toiletries, electric shavers...and condoms. Lots and lots of condoms with varying options for lube that made my eyebrows raise. Wow. I guess things have come a long way since the last time I felt the need for this. Now, I _**am**_ on birth control. I've been on birth control since I was 14 (small blessings, there) and I'm certain that Ranger already has something on hand but...maybe he needs a sign from me. Ranger is a true Alpha male. He's likely been the one to get things started with his partners but I can tell that he's different kind of Alpha with me, softer and patient.

Hopefully, he wants to jump my bones but he's waiting. He knows how I am when it comes to men and relationships. He's seen and heard for himself what I've been through, thanks to Morelli being a punk ass obnoxious little bitch at the steakhouse. Not to mention that my divorce from Dickie is urban legend and remain so until the End of Time.

If he wants me, he doesn't want to spook me.

If he wants me, he doesn't want to hurt me.

And knowing that makes me want and trust him even more than I already do.

God, I hope he wants me...

Reaching up, I grabbed a box and some of that KY His and Hers stuff that I've been seeing commercials about. Given the deep chemistry between us, I'm pretty sure that the KY won't be needed but it could be a fun thing to try together.

Having gotten everything, I finally headed to the checkout area and got into the smallest line, grabbing a Gatorade from the cooler. After a second, I grabbed a pack of Big Red and a Snickers. Big Red is my favorite and the Snickers is for bravery, as will the 3 coats of mascara I'll be putting on before heading to Haywood.

Hey, I may have grown up but there are some habits that just aren't gonna break, okay?

At least I got rid of the worst of my bad habits and... _ **oh, for fuck's sake!**_

Damn it.

Of course!

I should've known that things wouldn't remain calm forever. It's Trenton and it's The Burg. The Grapevine (or Information Stupid Highway as I call it in my more bitter moments) activated the moment I crossed its border. Someone would show up to try and ruin my so far splendid day.

At least it's not Morelli waiting by my car this time or god forbid, Joyce.

It's Helen Plum herself, ladies and germs.

 _ **Shit.**_

Today is Wednesday and Wednesday is market and errands day. I should've remembered since I spent what parts of my childhood that didn't involve me getting in trouble being dragged along. Val actually enjoyed going. I didn't. I went because I was forced and later, I spent much of the time with my headphones on and reading magazines while they did what they were going to do. What Helen could possibly want from me now, I don't know.

Okay, that's a lie.

Helen wants to save face and try her best to use words to cut me down/guilt trip me so she can feel better about herself instead of, I don't know, actually acknowledging her part in the rift between us and doing something useful about it? As harsh and cruel as I was during that phone call, I was absolutely right. _**She**_ isn't going to change. _**I'm**_ not going to change and I no longer feel the need to try. What more is there to say?

Of course, I would love to have a good relationship with her but it's just not in the cards.

I've accepted that.

I wish she would or just leave me alone.

What's that say about me that my main goal when it comes to most of humanity is to be left alone?

It can't be anything good...

"Stephanie, I need to speak with you."

"Why?"

"I'm concerned about you."

"Why? Despite the busted wrist, I've been doing just fine for myself."

"Maybe you _**think**_ you are but with your job and now this Ranger person you're with..."

" _ **And**_ we're done here. Whatever else you've got to say to me, leave it on a voicemail."

I don't have time for this and I'm not going to make time.

It's not worth it, she's not worth it, and Ranger is waiting for me.

Eventually, you have to stop beating the dead horse and bury it.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, I..."

" **No.** We're done here. You're not here out of concern for me. You're here out of concern for yourself as usual and I'm not in the mood. I have a date to get to and you should get to the Deli. They've got the roast beef and spicy turkey that Dad likes on sale. If you want me to help out with Gram, have her call me and if you want to have a nice mother-daughter chat, talk to Val. God knows she needs someone other than her girls and her Snoogie-Woogums to talk to."

"And here you go _**yet again**_ , assuming the worst of me and playing the victim without letting anyone get a word in edgewise!"

"Yes, here I go _**yet again**_. Joe Morelli said the same thing when he pulled something like this. You guys sharing a script? Comparing notes? Are you about to call me an immature cunt like he did next or are you going to come up with something original?"

"I would never use such foul language and you know that!"

"You're right. You wouldn't. You prefer polite insults. Small blessings there. Goodbye."

"Stephanie!"

"Go get Dad's lunchmeat and if you can, please give him and Gram my love."

 _ **/**_

 **Ranger's POV**

I don't know who I have more disdain for in Babe's life: Joe Morelli or Helen Plum.

Most of the time, it's a tie but when they decide to go out of their way to bother her, it breaks.

The both of them can and should burn in hell, in my opinion.

Of course, I'll be right there burning along with them but at least it won't be for hurting her.

Stephanie had come to Haywood with that fucking _**sadness**_ in her eyes again and told me that she had run into her mother at the market. That was all the explanation she gave me before hugging me and I immediately squeezed her, cradling her tight against me. If I could, I'd hold onto her forever but that isn't feasible. Even if it was, she wouldn't let me for very long. My Babe can and will take care of herself.

Pointedly, I left the camera feed as it was during the embrace, not bothering to scramble it. Why should I? If Tank was any indication, all the men knew that I was utterly besotted with Stephanie Plum and anyone who didn't know, Santos would gladly fill them in. That little fucker... not even making him wheeze for a week had suppressed his glee at "his hard ass little cousin finally getting a love cap busted in his ass". It was only through the threat of telling the _**familia**_ just what had happened after his high school graduation party that kept him in check from filling every Manoso, Santos and Guzman in the Tri-State area about my Babe.

I want to tell them myself.

I want to bring Stephanie up to Newark and have them meet her myself.

I want to take her to Miami to meet Julie and my family there, too.

She's the first woman that I've ever truly loved and she deserves to be treated as such.

As much as Rachel and I cared for each other, there wasn't any love there. There was fondness and later obligation when she became pregnant with Jules but never romantic love.

That is with Stephanie Plum.

I'm aware that she and I have known each other for less than 6 months but truth is truth.

I love her.

I truly do but I can and will wait in telling her that until she's ready.

She's not ready and she won't be ready for a while. I understand why. Between her pathetic excuse for parents, that _**Richard**_ Orr bastard (who the fuck calls themselves Dickie with a straight face past toddlerhood?), and the _**pendejo**_ still masquerading as a cop, the word and idea of love has become associated with deep pain for her. Pain and Lies. Stephanie doesn't like to go in depth about her past but she does tell me things. Some of the things are sweet and simple. Some of them are absolutely fucking hilarious. Some things make me want to kill every and anyone that moves but the point is that she's not afraid of me. She _**trusts**_ me.

That trust is far greater than any high security clearance I've gained in my career.

It's certainly much more pleasant.

Something that is beyond pleasant is having Stephanie on 7 with me. She's the first woman that I've allowed up that isn't related to me and it...she belongs. As soon as she came in, the space was filled with warmth and color, which I know sounds corny as fucking hell but it's the truth. Stephanie brings warmth and color to the places she goes to. There's just something about her that way. Once we got inside, she smiled and nodded to herself, taking in her surroundings before looking at me head on.

 _"I like your place. It's very you."_

And after setting her shopping bag down, she sat down on the couch and promptly claimed one of the many plush throw pillows Celia insisted that I buy. The couch is top of the line leather, comfortable and big enough on its own. Why the fuck would I need pillows, I asked her, leading to her slapping me on the back of the head for my language. Since she's the oldest of my sisters and she & I have always been close, I allowed it. Giggling and ruffling my hair, she assured me that one day, I would thank her for her insight.

That day wasn't today but it would be soon.

Lunch had been pasta primavera and Ella's homemade dulce de leche cake. If I thought the sounds Stephanie makes when she has a good meatball sub were something, it was nothing compared to the moan she let out when she first tasted Ella's cooking. If I were a man with less control, I would've had _**her**_ for lunch and saved the actual food for later.

There will be time for such things later.

Stephanie and I will make the time.

She and Ella immediately connected when she came up for the dishes. Usually, I do those myself but I know my _**Tia**_. She wanted to meet Stephanie now and what she wants she gets. Fortunately for my _**Tio**_ Luis and everyone around her, she uses her powers for good and not evil. Within 5 minutes, she and Babe were giggling about something and when Steph went to the bathroom, Ella gave me a double thumbs up before retreating. She's probably on the phone with my mother and at least 2 more Manoso women, gushing about Carlitos' new _**novia**_ but her, I don't mind. It's a good sign of things to come. Being the oldest, Ella has always been the Protector of her sisters and any children produced by them. If Ella likes Stephanie, then it's guaranteed that the rest of the _**familia**_ will follow suit.

Even without Ella vouching for her, I know that they'll adore my Babe.

How could they not?

 _ **/**_

 **Steph's POV**

I want to kiss him.

I've wanted to kiss him from pretty much the moment I met him but now that want is steadily becoming a need.

After a fantastic lunch and meeting Ella Guzman, one of his aunts and one of his most trusted RangePeople, Carlos and I settled in to watch TV together. Instead of the Ranger's game or a sitcom rerun, he put on a documentary about how Ancient Rome built its great structures. Normally, I'm not one for documentaries but the one Carlos picked was really fascinating, especially when they went into the backstories of the Rulers of the time. Man, I thought The Burg was nuts but The Burg doesn't have shit on Ancient Rome. They had some of everybody running things and for every good Emperor, there were like 4 that were downright certifiable. I mean, one guy actually made his horse a Senator! His _**horse**_! And then Nero? Good Lord. Talk about your Mommy Issues on steroids. Yiketh...

Anyway, as the documentary ended and the next one on Ancient Egypt began, we gravitated towards each other. Yes, his couch was very comfortable and his throw pillows were awesome but he was more comfortable. The hug he gave me in the parking garage, the small ways he touched me...

I want to kiss him.

Does he want me to kiss him?

Again, I'm new to this. I know how to deal with an asshole. I know how to get things started with an asshole and thankfully, I know how to end things, even if they refuse to get the hint. Carlos isn't an asshole. He's a good man. He's _**my**_ man and he smells good and he feels good and fuck it, I'm going for it!

Shifting even closer, I let my fingertips skim over his jaw, enjoying the feel of his 5 o' clock shadow. I've always liked shadow and scruff on a man. Carlos turned to face me and I leaned in and planted a big wet one on him. His lips were silky soft and he tasted _**so**_ good. He tasted like the cake we shared and something spicy-tangy that I want more of. A low, feline like noise rumbled in his chest and he pulled me onto his lap to straddle him. I had worn a skirt today, white with black polka dots, the same black of the lace mid sleeved top I had decided to wear. It wasn't sheer or anything like that but it was understated sexy, accentuating my curves nicely. The black wedges were in the foyer next to his boots and oh my god, he feels so good...

" _Holy fucking hell_...", I breathed dreamily as we broke for air.

He chuckled and kissed me again with smiling lips.


End file.
